


A Person of Consequence

by MarziPanda95



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Author knows nothing about organised crime, Blood and Injury, Czech Mafia, Dubious Consent, Emil is precious, Emil needs a hug, Emil whump, Forced Prostitution, I think I panicked a few people I'm sorry, I wrote this in like half an hour tbh, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mickey needs a hug, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Torture, Violence, no major character death don't worry, protect him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 89,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarziPanda95/pseuds/MarziPanda95
Summary: Michele is in a slump. Whilst his career is progressing, his personal life leaves much to be desired. He only needs Sara, he tells himself. He doesn't need friends. When a prostitute with a dashing smile and sad eyes worms his way into Michele's life, he might just find himself playing an unwitting hero.Emil didn't matter. He knew that. He knew that his future had been thrown away the minute his family betrayed him. Any dreams of catching up to his idol Michele were dashed the day he was sold. Now a young sex worker on Italy's streets, he lives just to exist. And if he died? Well, nobody would care. A chance meeting in an alley changes that. For better or for worse, it will never be the same again - not now that he's had a taste of the hope he left behind years ago.





	1. Looking for something?

The world outside had fallen to darkness. There was a chill in the air; the last days of winter were still clinging to their power – and yet, the chill wasn’t enough for one to call upon the assistance of a coat or scarf. It was the perfect kind of weather for a midnight walk. The sky was cloudless, and the stars above twinkled merrily. The city was alive with music, cars, and late night drinkers.

 

Michele didn’t care about any of that shit. The stars weren’t enough to cheer him up, and they weren’t enough to light his path. He had chosen a less direct way home because the quickest route took him straight past the Yoko nightclub. He’d had enough of being harassed by drunks. Especially the men looking to fight, and the women looking to flirt.  
Michele’s apartment was a bus ride and a half hour walk from the ice rink he was based at. This new route added another ten minutes to that, but he found that the silence was worth more than an extra ten minutes of sleep. He navigated down an alleyway. By the time he noticed the man (a women wouldn’t be so tall, surely?) leaning against the wall, it was too late to turn back the other way. The man (definitely a man, he could see the beard now) looked up when he heard footsteps and grinned.

  
“Hey, friend. You looking for something?”

  
The accent was odd. He definitely wasn’t a native Italian speaker, but he was still European. Not English. German? Eastern Europe, maybe? Russia?

  
“No.” Michele eyed the man suspiciously. He kept walking but the other man blocked his way. “I’m just trying to get home.”

  
Now that he was closer, he could see the man’s face better. He was younger than Michele first thought, definitely younger than himself. The beard and the height managed to age him but the guy would look like a teenager without it. Moving down from the other male’s face, Michele could see tight jeans and a broad chest.

  
“Like what you see?” The man winked. “I’m cheaper than any of those guys and girls on the main street.”

  
Michele’s face immediately heated up. No way. Just his luck. He came this way to avoid people but ended up running into a goddamn male prostitute.

  
“No.” He ground out. He walked past the man. He jumped when an arm was slung around his shoulders.

  
“I’m Lab, by the way. What’s your name?”

  
“Fuck off. Is that even your real name?”

  
Lab laughed, loudly. It was almost endearing. But mostly irritating. “No! But my friends tell me I’m like a Labrador puppy. Don’t you think?”

  
“Annoyingly optimistic, takes nothing seriously, always wants attention, won’t stop pestering? Yeah. Seems about accurate.” Michele grumbled.

“Woah~” Lab’s eyes went wide and sparkled under the starlight. “You can tell all of that about me already?! You’re amazing! See, you deserve to treat yourself~”

  
“Not to you.” Michele rolled his eyes. Lab’s smile dropped for a split second, and Michele could have sworn he saw fear. It was gone before Michele could understand it, and Lab returned to his cheerful smile. He kept his arm around Michele’s shoulder as they walked.

  
“Fine, fine. I’m heading this way anyway, how about you tell me about yourself?”

  
“No.”

  
“Aww. How about your day, then? How’s your day been, friend?”

  
“I’m not your friend.” Michele hissed. Then he looked at Lab and immediately felt bad. He had the ‘kicked puppy’ look down to a fault. “…It was fine. I was practising most of the day.”

  
Lab perked up again.

  
“Practicing what?”

  
“Figure skating. I’m a professional.” Michele said. Lab didn’t need to know just how professional.

  
Lab paused, forcing Michele to pause, too. They had stopped under a street light, and Lab was squinting at him carefully.

  
“Are you… Michele Crispino?”

  
Michele half-heartedly attempted to move away, but mostly out of surprise. Lab’s arm didn’t tighten around him, but nor did it yield.

  
“What…? How do you know my name?”

  
“Are you kidding?” Lab grinned. He started to walk again, and Michele followed. “You’re famous! You got to the Grand Prix Final before! I was rooting for you, you know. But alas, Victor strikes again.”

  
“You follow figure skating?” Michele didn’t bother to hide his surprise. He hadn’t expected a prostitute to have passions like that. When he realised why he was surprised, he was forced to take a look at himself. Why had he assumed that a sex worker wouldn’t like sports? Wouldn’t have hobbies?

  
“Oh, yeah. Ever since I was small. I wanted to figure skate. Once upon a time.” Lab’s smile turned sad. A sick feeling churned in Michele’s stomach. But the look in Lab’s eyes spoke of something more. There was something Lab wasn’t telling him. Michele had learnt to search for this look, because he didn’t want Sara to ever lie to him.

  
Michele was about to say something about it, but Lab stopped at a junction.

  
“I’m turning right here to head home. How about you?”

  
Michele looked around. He didn’t realise they had been walking for that long.

  
“Left.”

  
“Ah.” Lab smiled and his arm finally withdrew. “Then here we part. It was nice to meet you, Mickey!”

  
“’Mickey’? Hey, that’s not my-!”

  
“Maybe I’ll see you around!” Lab began to run off, laughing, and all Michele could think about was the warm feeling in his chest when Lab called him that.

 

Michele got home that evening a little later than he usually would. This, of course, had made Sara worry.

  
“You should have called or texted! I was starting to think something bad had happened. You know I don’t like you walking home alone.”

  
“Don’t worry about me, Sara. It’s more important that you’re safe.” Michele replied. He looked her up and down just to make sure. Their coach had offered to take them home after practice, but she could only fit one of them in her car. Michele much preferred that it was Sara. Sara hadn’t even attempted to argue with him about it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  
Sara handed Michele a cup of hot chocolate.

“So, why are you late? You’re usually so punctual.”

  
They sat down on the sofa in the living room. It wasn’t a huge apartment, but it was admittedly spacious – their wealth showed. When they had first moved in it had been white. Everything, so white. The walls, the carpets, the furniture. Modern, unlived in, and totally impersonal. Over time they had made it their own. Sara’s cat slept on the armchair. Prints of renaissance era art hung on the walls alongside pictures of their family – mostly just Michele and Sara, but some of their parents, too. They rarely got to see their parents. Not only did Mr and Mrs Crispino live in Rome over 400 miles away, but they were notorious workaholics. Michele had never asked what they did. It was related to the police, tackling organised crime. He wasn’t interested as long as they kept themselves safe.

  
Michele sipped his drink and looked at a picture of the four of them, displayed beside the TV.

  
“No reason. Got harassed, but it wasn’t anything bad.”

  
Did Lab count as harassment? He suddenly felt bad for thinking that. It had been an annoying encounter, but not an unpleasant one.

  
“I do wish you’d just take a taxi after you get off the bus.” Sara sighed.

  
“I won’t go wasting money like that.” Michele’s family might be rich, but he was frugal. “I can handle myself.”

 

 

Michele took the same route home the following night. He wouldn’t allow himself to be forced to change anything just for one annoying young man. He truthfully hadn’t been expecting Lab to be there at all. But it was another cloudless night, and the stars revealed Lab’s form at the end of the alley before Michele could even think of turning back. He wouldn’t. He steeled himself.

  
“Mickey!” Lab jogged forwards. Tonight, he didn’t put his arm around Michele. He was grateful for that, at least. Michele glanced up at Lab. He was about to open his mouth to ask – nay, demand – what Lab thought gave him the right to call him that. He froze. Stretching across the right hand side of Lab’s face was an impressive bruise. It was blue and black, fresh, and seemed like it would only look worse over the next few days. And yet, Lab was still smiling. That annoying, infection grin. Stupid. Michele wasn’t going to mention it. He didn’t care. He didn’t.

  
“Hey, why do you practise so late, anyway? It’s almost one.” Lab said. He fell into step beside Michele. It felt natural.

 

“The rink is busy, so we practise in the evenings. Practise ends at 11, but then we eat and then I get the bus.” Michele replied. Why was he telling Lab this? Well, it couldn’t hurt.

  
“We? You and your sister, right? Sara?” Lab smiled. Michele was about to start ranting about how dare Lab look at his sister, but then he studied the smile. It was a warm smile. A smile of admiration, rather than anything sexual. Lab admired Sara as a skater. That was rare, among men, Michele often found.

  
“Yes. Our coach drives her home.”

  
“Ah. And you’re left to walk with me~?”

  
“As if I want to be walking with you.”

  
“Aww. I’m hurt, Mickey!”

  
Michele scowled and stuck his hands in his pockets. He could see the crossroads up ahead.

  
“Stop harassing me. I don’t want to be seen with someone like you.”

  
He didn’t turn to see Lab’s expression. He didn’t want to see that kicked puppy look again. But Lab kept surprising him. When Lab was silent, Michele turned his head to look. Instead of a disappointed pout, Lab sported a sad smile. It seeped with resignation, with hopelessness, with rejection, with the knowledge that things were never going to get any better. But still – it was a smile. Somehow it felt miles worse to see that expression than the innocent kicked puppy look. Until now, Lab’s profession hadn’t really played on Michele’s mind. Lab wasn’t innocent. Naive, maybe, but he wasn’t the fountain of endless cheer that Michele had initially thought. The cheer was a mask. Lab was a man close to giving up.

  
“Don’t worry about that.” Lab said once they stopped at the crossroads. “Nobody around here would be the types to follow ice skating. They wouldn’t recognise you. I just wanted… to make sure you were safe, around here, and… maybe learn a couple things. About skating.”

  
“…Oh.” Michele raised both eyebrows. Lab really did like ice skating. “I… guess… I wouldn’t mind…” Why was his face suddenly so red, why were his words so hard to get out? “…Wouldn’t mind telling you a few things. Behind the scenes kind of stuff.”

  
“Really?!” The cheer was back, and it even seemed a touch more genuine this time. Lab took his hands and squeezed them. “Thank you so much, Mickey!”

  
“Don’t mention it.” Michele grumbled. He pulled his hands away quickly. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, I guess?”

  
“Tomorrow.” Lab agreed. Instead of turning right, Lab turned back the way they came. Michele raised an eyebrow and Lab, feeling the stare, looked back.

  
“Oh, I have to get back to where I was waiting for you. My, um, my shift isn’t over.” He explained sheepishly. He then continued to walk until he was out of sight.

  
Michele stood, stunned, for a few moments. Lab went out of his way to walk him home, tonight. Yesterday he’d happened to be going the same way, but tonight Lab had stopped working just to spend time with Michele.

  
“What an idiot…” He muttered. He continued home, though Lab kept occupying his mind – and growing his own little space in Michele’s heart.

The next evening, Lab ran up to Michele before he’d even turned down the alley.

  
“You heard, right?”

  
Lab seemed excited. Michele raised an eyebrow. He looked Lab over. As he had thought, the bruise looked much worse now. It had darkened into a deep purple. The eye was swollen.

  
“About what? Yuri and Yuri?” he said. He didn’t stop walking, so Lab had to do a little jog to catch up.

  
“Yeah! Hot springs on ice. Sounds fun…” Lab smiled brightly. “Who do you think will win? Using your… insider knowledge?”

  
Michele hummed thoughtfully. He thought it over in his mind. He didn’t want to give Lab a half-arsed answer.

  
“I can’t say for sure. But Japanese Yuri is older, more experienced. Sure, he fucked up at the grand prix final and he’s failed to qualify for anything since, but nerves got the better of him. Russian Yuri… he’s got potential for days, but he’s still young. And having seen his skates…” Michele shrugged. “His heart isn’t in it. Not in the same way. He’s determined and he absolutely wants to win, but it means he sometimes forgets the meaning of the skate. You know…?” Michele trailed off, his cheeks turning red.

  
“Ooh… yeah, I know what you mean! Thanks for the explanation. It’s so exciting to have you to talk to about this. Are you going to be watching?” Lab asked.

  
“Maybe. It depends what time it is. Time zones… are a problem. I could be at practise, or asleep. Even if I’m not, I probably won’t watch unless Sara wants to.” Michele looked at Lab. The other man had a pout on his face.

  
“Man. I’m totally going to watch it. I’ll find an all-night internet café and watch it there. Alone. By myself. No company. No friends…” Lab sighed dramatically and threw his arms up into the sky. It was warm tonight. It would be May in a few days.

  
“Stop trying to guilt trip me, Lab. I don’t want to watch it, so I won’t.” Michele grumbled. “But we can talk about it after if you want.” He had agreed to talk to Lab about skating after all. He wasn’t going to go back on his word.

  
Lab was silent for a minute or so.

  
“Thanks. Really, I mean it. You could have said no and just ignored me.”

  
“You’re pretty hard to ignore.” Michele deadpanned. Lab laughed loudly.

  
“You’re right! Though I know… I’m not stupid. I know you feel sorry for me. Hard not to with a face like this. Don’t feel too bad, though. I deserved it.”

  
“No you didn’t.”

  
Michele stopped under a street light, the same one where Lab had realised he was Michele Crispino, the skater he looked up to. Lab stared at him, baffled. He opened his mouth, clearly to disagree, but Michele interrupted.

  
“You didn’t. I’ve known you what, three days? You wouldn’t do anything to deserve that. I know it.”

  
Michele surprised himself with the conviction which came out of his mouth. He was so sure. Lab stared back.

  
“…Oh.” The younger man couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. They stood under that street light for several minutes. Neither of them wanted to speak. Something special hung in the air.

  
“Emil.” Lab said suddenly.

  
“What?”

  
Michele breathed out slowly. The tension was seeping away.

  
“My name. It’s Emil.”

  
“Emil…” Michele rolled it on his tongue. Lab… Emil shivered pleasantly. “It’s a nice name. Suits you.”

  
“Thanks!” Emil grinned and wrapped an arm around Michele’s shoulders again. They started to walk.

  
They settled into a comfortable silence. Michele felt honoured that Emil had told him his name. He got the feeling that perhaps most people who knew Emil didn’t know his name at all. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Michele if he was the only person in the whole city – even the whole country – who knew it. He wanted to ask where Emil was from (after all, Emil was a name used in many European countries, it didn’t really narrow it down at all) but he didn’t want to scare Emil away. Emil had already bestowed Michele with enough information for one night.

  
Soon – far too soon – they had reached the crossroads. Like the previous night, Emil said his goodbyes and headed back the way they’d come. Michele felt his stomach drop as he began to walk by himself to his apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Well, that was chapter one. I have a few things written but there's one question I really want to ask: how explicit should I make this? Right now any explicitness would be between Emil and others, rather than Emil and Mickey. As Emil's sexual encounters with clients isn't really the focus (rather, his relationships with clients and how it affects him) for now I've skipped over the explicit stuff in what I've written. However if you guys wanted to see it, I wouldn't mind writing it.  
> Updates will be weekly-ish. Beware though that next week is Eurovision! I won't have time to write as for me it's the most important part of the year, so next week's update will likely be late. Or maybe early. Uh, we'll see.


	2. Hey, friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It must be fate, or destiny. There's no other way that someone like Emil could meet his idol somewhere like that. New friends are good, but being confronted with a blast from the past might bring up things he never wanted to think about again.

Emil had claimed that alleyway as his own long before Michele decided to re-route his journey home. For several months he had waited there during night hours. It meant that his regulars knew where to find him and could direct interested parties his way easily, and he was also away from the busy main streets where he might be arrested.

 

When he had seen Michele’s figure coming down the alley, he was hopeful. Emil hadn’t had enough clients to meet his quota that night, and a new customer would be good – especially a new regular, if he could perform well enough.

 

“Hey, friend. You looking for something?”

 

The man rejected him instantly, even with insistence. Fine, not a client – yet. He’d keep trying. He studied the other man with interest. Tanned skin, shorter than him, an angry look on his face. Pretty eyes. Somehow he looked familiar, but it was hard to tell in this light. Emil decided to follow him. He was persistent and curious. No wonder he had called himself Lab.

 

“Annoyingly optimistic, takes nothing seriously, always wants attention, won’t stop pestering? Yeah. Seems about accurate.” The man grumbled.

 

“Woah~” Emil’s eyes went wide. This guy was smart! “You can tell all of that about me already?! You’re amazing! See, you deserve to treat yourself~”

 

“Not to you.”

 

Emil’s smile dropped. He couldn’t help it. If he didn’t reach his quota, he would be in big trouble. Trouble meant pain. He didn’t want that, not again, not so soon after the last time, not…

 

Emil got a hold of himself quickly and smiled again. He couldn’t let himself slip. Then the guy – Michele – said he was a figure skater. They stopped under a street light.

 

Holy shit. Out of all the people he could be trying to convince into his bed that night, he had run into Michele Crispino. _The_ Michele Crispino. Oh, fuck.

 

But from the way Michele looked at him, it was clear there was no memory there. And why should there be? It had been so many years since they met. Emil knew he had changed a lot, and not just the beard. Emil had been a child back then. An innocent child. Oh, but to have those days back…

 

Michele and Emil parted ways at the crossroads. Emil went right, back towards home. The night was still early but he had so much to think about. It was also a Thursday. Thursdays were his dry nights, where he often didn’t get a lot of clients. There wasn’t any point going back to the alley. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Twenty minutes later he arrived and looked up at the building to see if there were any lights on. There were. It was an old building. It had been a motel at one point, and now it was a bar. A bar to the outside world, anyway. To Emil and the other sex workers, it was home.

 

Emil went through the side door and nodded to the receptionist, Feliciano. The older man raised an eyebrow at him. They both knew he was back early, and it didn’t bode well.

 

“He’s in the bar right now.” Feliciano said. “Do you want to get it over with, or…?”

 

“Not right now.” Emil ran a hand through his hair and smiled. He needed time to think. “Note me down. He’ll see when he checks.”

 

Feliciano nodded and wrote something down. Emil turned and climbed the stairs. The air upstairs smelled like smoke. Upstairs there was a long corridor, the doors on either side. Emil ignored the moaning coming from behind some of the doors. The carpet under his shoes was threadbare. It had once been red, perhaps, or purple. Emil went down the corridor, almost to the end, and took out his keys. He unlocked his door and stepped in.

 

It was a modest room, of course. There was a double bed – you couldn’t entertain clients in a single, not with his height – but not much else. A wardrobe to one side held all of his clothes and his supplies. There was a shower room to one side, but no toilet. The carpet was a little less worn. Patchy in places, perhaps, but the colour could at least still be determined – burgundy, like the dusty curtains and the bedsheets. Burgundy was not Emil’s colour. He preferred blues and blacks. Maybe that was ironic, because his skin was patchy with blues and blacks most of the time.

 

Emil sat on the bed, then lay down after a few moments. He stared at the yellowing ceiling. He had lived in this small room for the last two and a half years but it never felt like home. Soon he would be eighteen, but nothing would change. Nothing. Being a legal adult made no difference to his situation and the date would likely pass without much celebration.

 

It’s not like he didn’t have friends here, though. He did. Most of the others were friendly. Some were there of their own choosing – a couple liked the work. That was fine by Emil, he didn’t mind if they thought that way. Most who had that mindset were independent or worked in places where they were actually allowed to leave freely. Others didn’t mind the work but were forced into it by finances. And then there were those who had no choice at all. Those who had been trafficked and sold like cattle. Most of them were from other countries. Emil wasn’t an exception.

 

Regardless of why they were all there, they supported each other. It was every man or woman (or neither) to themselves, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t help each other out. If you were out of condoms or if a client got too violent or you needed to borrow make up to hide bruises, they had your back.

 

Emil wondered if any of them would understand his predicament. Meeting your idol again after four years, in the middle of the street. And propositioning him, of all things! Emil chuckled to himself. The look on Mickey’s face had been kind of cute. That indignation!

 

Emil jumped when someone knocked on his door. He stood slowly to open it. He took his time getting to the door. The only person who ever knocked without saying anything was Desislav. Sure enough, when Emil opened the door, he looked up into the stone cold face of the owner. Desislav was tall, even taller than Emil, and built like a brick shithouse. Emil was tall but he was slender and thin. Desislav was wide as well as tall. His slicked back dark hair made him look every bit the villain, even if he could make his blue eyes look kind if he wished to.

 

“Good evening, sir.” Emil said. They usually conversed in English. Italian wasn’t Desislav’s native language either, and they were both better at English.

 

“Evening? Are you sure? Because you’re back very early.” Desislav grunted. He purposefully looked at his watch. He eyed it in an exaggerated way. “So you either got a big hit or gave up.”

 

Emil stood in the doorway and said nothing. He kept a blank smile on his face. Over Desislav’s shoulder he could see one of his friends, Noa. Noa gave him a sympathetic look and went back into her room. He was on his own with this one.

 

“From your silence, it’s the latter.” Desislav’s face turned dark. “So I’ll give you two options. Either I handle this, or you get Alessandro tonight.”

 

Emil swallowed and held his ground, fighting the urge to step back. Alessandro was a notoriously vicious client. He liked to see his playthings bleed and break. He liked to hear them scream. More than one of Emil’s friends had needed hospital treatment after seeing him. Concetta, who had been working at the bar for several years, had mysteriously disappeared after a session with Alessandro a year ago. When asked, Desislav had refused to say anything. Rumour was, Alessandro had been too hard and killed Concetta by accident. There wasn’t any way to know if it was true since she had never turned up. So far, Emil had avoided Alessandro.

 

“I would prefer if you handled the matter, sir.” Emil said after a few moments. Anything was better than Alessandro.

 

“Good boy.” Desislav purred. A predatory smile graced his face. Emil didn’t waver.

 

Emil followed Desislav down the hallway into the room at the end. This was where punishment took place. The carpet had been stripped away long ago to make it easier to clean. There was a bed in the middle and a drawer full of tools on the left hand side.

 

Emil stood and waited. He was knocked violently off his feet when Desislav hit him hard across the face with a metal pipe. He hit the floor and stayed down, panting. He didn’t dare move, even to bring a hand to his face to assess the damage.

 

“You dumb bitch. You think you can come back empty handed and hide away in your room?” Desislav kicked Emil in the ribs. Emil’s body jerked and he curled up with a quiet groan. The man grabbed the teen’s hair and dragged him up.

 

“Kneel.”

 

Emil pulled his legs under him. His face and his ribs were on fire, but he didn’t show it. He tried to keep his face neutral. Smiling now would only piss Desislav off more. He put his hands on his thighs and kept his eyes on the stone floor. Desislav was rummaging for something.

 

Emil heard the crack of the whip a split second before the pain blossomed on his back. He sucked in a breath to keep himself from crying out. At least he still had a shirt on. He steeled himself when more lashes fell upon him.

 

“You little slut, did you think you could get away with it? What were you fucking playing at?” Desislav was panting with effort. Emil had lost count. He felt numb. “If you don’t get enough on the street go find a regular, go find a fucking seedy bar, pawn yourself off to some shitty gangster in a back alley! Just don’t. Come back here. Empty handed!”

 

Desislav enunciated his last words with a lash for each. Emil’s shirt ripped and then his skin ripped too. The blood trickled into the top of his jeans and he finally screamed. He began to cry, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Finally, Desislav wore himself out. He wiped the whip down and put it away. He tore the remains of Emil’s shirt off and grabbed his hair. When Emil opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with Desislav’s dick. He forced himself to shake off the pain and do what he had to. This was easier. It was familiar. It didn’t hurt, except when Desislav pulled on his hair.

 

Eventually Desislav finished and wiped a stray bead of cum from the edge of Emil’s mouth.

 

“I expect double money tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Go.”

 

Emil didn’t need telling twice. He got up and hurried out of the room, shirtless and bleeding. Thankfully nobody saw him except Noa, who was waiting by her bedroom door. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.

 

“Sit.” She insisted, nudging him gently to the bed. He sat down whilst she got out her first aid kit. Noa and Emil always talked in English, too. Noa was from New Zealand, and her Italian wasn’t very good. Like Emil, she had been sold. Also like Emil, it was her own family who did the selling. She was a little older than Emil at twenty. She had the same hair colour as Emil, but her hair was fluffy and curly – and she kept it shorter than most girls her age. Noa sat down and started to wash the blood away. Emil tried not to wince. Noa used to go through this kind of thing a lot with customers. As a trans woman, many of her clients wanted a woman with something extra who they could dominate. She’d decided a year ago to turn the tide and become a dominatrix. Desislav had been sceptical, but it had worked out. Outside of the bedroom though, little Noa was as sweet as anything.

 

“You know better than to come back empty handed, mate. You’ve been here long enough. Why? Something got you shaken, eh?”

 

Emil sighed and stared at the paint peeling off the wall.

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

“Maybe?” Noa gave him a coy smile. “Now, love, don’t ‘maybe’ me. I want the goss.”

 

Emil took a few seconds to reply. Noa was the worst liar Emil had ever met. She couldn’t even manage white lies with a straight face – but she was good at detecting them. He couldn’t lie to her.

 

“I met someone tonight. I walked with him – no work or anything, he wasn’t interested. He was…” Emil couldn’t exactly say that Mickey was nice. But there was something about him. “…a curiosity? He’s a famous ice skater.”

 

“Ooh!” Noa picked up the anti-septic. She wanted to keep him distracted. This would hurt. “I won’t ask for his name, since I wouldn’t know him anyway. But I know you’re into that stuff. It must be fate.”

 

Emil laughed, even though his back was on fire and he wanted to cry.

 

“Fate? No way! Or, maybe. But I’ll probably never see him again. There was something though… when I spoke to him. His facial expressions. The way he acts. The way he looks. My chest felt…”

 

“…Warm?” Noa suggested. She looked sympathetic. “Honey, don’t go falling in love. It won’t end well.”

 

Emil didn’t say anything, but he glanced back to look at her. Noa was in love. She had experience with that. She was in love with a Welshman who was a regular client of hers. He was the only one she didn’t have BDSM sex with. It was regular, normal, (mind blowing, apparently) sex. He loved her too, but he didn’t have the money to buy her out. He was saving for it. A lot of clients would say that sort of thing as a lie, but Dylan was dead serious. He was genuine. But Noa knew it was unlikely to work out. Love stories don’t have happy endings in our line of work, she told Emil.

 

“I’m putting the bandages on, hold still.”

 

Emil bit his lip and hissed as the bandages were applied. It hurt, but he was used to it.

 

“There you go, Lab, mate. Now don’t go daydreaming about this boy again. I don’t want you in any more trouble.” Noa wagged a finger at him, and he grinned.

 

“Aww, you’re worried about me! That’s cute~”

 

“Don’t patronise me.” Noa laughed and petted Emil’s hair. “Off with you, now. Get some sleep.”

 

Emil stood and went to the door. He opened it and paused in the doorway to look back.

 

“Thanks, by the way.” He nodded at her and then went back to his room.

 

Emil lay on his front in bed and hugged his pillow. His face and his back were thrumming with pain. Every beat of his heart sent shocks through his injuries. Yet somehow it wasn’t the pain keeping him awake.

 

He had to force himself to think of something – anything – except Mickey, to finally get to sleep.

 

 

The next evening Emil set out early. He had to make up for the night before. So he did his best to snag new customers, keeping an eye on the time to make sure he wouldn’t miss Mickey. Luckily the customers he’d drawn in had cars they were happy to get to business in, so Emil didn’t have to go far from the alley. Even luckier, none of them cared about the bruise across his face or the bandages which made him stiff. By the time Mickey came down the alley, Emil already had most of the money he needed.

 

“Mickey!” Emil jogged forwards to greet him. He didn’t want Mickey to shove him off and make his injuries worse, so he didn’t touch him. He noticed Mickey studying his face, so he spoke up before Mickey had a chance to mention it.

 

““Hey, why do you practise so late, anyway? It’s almost one.”

 

Mickey explained his situation. Emil found it cute the way Mickey got mad if Emil mentioned his sister. Protectiveness was a valuable trait. They fell into a back-and-forth banter which felt somehow familiar, even if they had only met the day before. Or, Mickey thought they had only met the day before. Emil was happy to let him keep thinking that.

 

“Stop harassing me. I don’t want to be seen with someone like you.”

 

Emil didn’t say anything for a long time. Something stung in his chest worse than the pain on his face or back. He mentally sighed and tried to smile. How could he think that Mickey thought of him – would ever think of him – as anything more than a prostitute? There was no future for Emil. It would be best if he didn’t even try to be friends with someone like Michele Crispino.

 

“Don’t worry about that.” Emil said once they stopped at the crossroads. “Nobody around here would be the types to follow ice skating. They wouldn’t recognise you. I just wanted… to make sure you were safe, around here, and… maybe learn a couple things. About skating.”

 

Emil tried his best not to sound desperate. He failed.

 

To his surprise, though, Mickey agreed to help him. Emil had been away from the skating world for so long that he was desperate for someone to spark that hope again. Emil grabbed Mickey’s hands and thanked him profusely. It was really happening! Mickey said yes!

 

“Don’t mention it.” Michele grumbled and pulled his hands away quickly. Emil’s hands felt a little empty but he didn’t attempt to grab them again. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, I guess?”

 

Emil agreed and turned to go back the way they came. He didn’t have quite enough money to be able to go home yet. He caught Mickey’s look and smiled.

 

When Emil explained, Mickey looked stunned. Stunned that Emil went out of his way, maybe?

 

Nah. Emil chuckled and started to walk. Mickey wouldn’t care about something like that, right?

 

 

The next night, Emil was excited. Through his limited access to the internet, he had heard about the Hot Springs on Ice event. He hurried down the alley as soon as he saw Mickey.

 

“You heard, right?”

 

Emil lived up to his name of ‘Lab’. He bounced on his feet and asked Mickey who he thought would win. He was a little taken aback, and honoured, that Mickey actually bothered to give him a thought-out answer. Almost like he cared. He pushed his luck by implying that he wanted Mickey to watch it with him. He belatedly realised that Mickey was a normal person who needed sleep, and it would be about 3am Italy time when the event would begin. At least Mickey agreed to talk to him about it, afterwards.

 

Emil was quiet for a while. He wanted to word things right.

 

“Thanks. Really, I mean it. You could have said no and just ignored me.” He said.

 

“You’re pretty hard to ignore.” Mickey looked unimpressed, and it was such a funny expression that Emil laughed loudly.

 

“You’re right! Though I know…” Emil paused and raised his fingers to his face. His eye was swollen, and one side of his face was turning blue from the bruise. “I’m not stupid. I know you feel sorry for me. Hard not to with a face like this. Don’t feel too bad, though. I deserved it.”

 

“No you didn’t.”

 

Mickey stopped, forcing Emil to stop, too. Emil stared at the Italian man. He couldn’t understand. Of course he had deserved it, or it wouldn’t have happened. That’s how it worked. Punishment. He opened his mouth to explain, but Mickey interrupted.

 

“You _didn’t._ I’ve known you what, three days? You wouldn’t do anything to deserve that. I know it.”

 

Emil stared back. Mickey sounded so sure. Like it was an undisputable fact. The sky is blue. The Earth is round. In Lithuania you have to be 18 years old to purchase beverages with more than 150 ml of caffeine per litre. Water is wet. Emil didn’t deserve it.

 

“…Oh.” Emil couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind had gone blank. They stood under that street light for several minutes. Neither of them wanted to speak. Something special hung in the air.

 

“Emil.” Emil suddenly blurted. It seemed to come out on its own.

 

“What?”

 

The tension was seeping away. Emil’s smile slowly came back, even though this was a risk. He was risking Mickey remembering him.

 

“My name. It’s Emil.”

 

“Emil…” Mickey rolled it on his tongue. Emil shivered pleasantly. It sounded so good from Mickey’s mouth. “It’s a nice name. Suits you.”

 

“Thanks!” Emil grinned and wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders, and they started to walk.

 

Emil didn’t know why he had told Mickey his name. It was a stupid thing to do. He knew that, but he did it anyway. Emil wasn’t well known for good decision making. Nobody knew his real name. Nobody at the bar knew it. Emil didn’t think that Desislav knew, either. ‘Lab’ was the name he signed in and out with, it was the name his regulars requested, and it was what everyone in Italy called him. Except, now, for Mickey. Emil had genuinely almost forgotten his own name. It had been so long. He felt somewhat like he was grasping at straws. Grasping at the wisps of his old life. Grasping at the Emil Nekola who hoped one day to be an equal to Michele Crispino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Here's a slightly early chapter. As I mentioned last week, this week is Eurovision, so I hurried to get this done before I descend into glitter madness. Next week should be on time, depending on how long my hangover is going to last.


	3. The Crispinos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey starts to realise that maybe Emil isn't as happy as he assumed. But he's no knight in shining armour... right?
> 
> “I suspect the truth is that we are waiting, all of us, against insurmountable odds, for something extraordinary to happen to us.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

It was a Sunday. That meant technically, Michele had the day off. The skating season had just ended, too, and he and Sara had finished their wind down sessions. Really, he shouldn’t be going to the rink at all for the next week or so.

 

Normally he wouldn’t. But if he didn’t, he didn’t have an excuse to see Emil.

 

It seemed stupid in retrospect. He shouldn’t have to make up excuses to see Emil, but he didn’t want Emil to think Michele liked him. Which, yeah, was stupid.

 

So Michele ended up going to the rink on Sunday anyway, even though it was closed. The owner was kind enough to give him a key, and he spent a while skating around aimlessly. It was soothing, being on the ice. When he was younger, he hadn’t liked ice skating all that much. It was Sara’s idea to try it. Sara had seen some performances and wanted to do it, and Michele wouldn’t allow her to do it alone. He had to make sure she was protected.

 

Over time, though, ice skating became important to Michele. It calmed him. Off the ice he struggled to control his temper and his emotions. He bottled up emotions and didn’t let anyone see what he was really thinking, sometimes. The ice gave him an opportunity to express himself without fear of retribution.

 

That night, Emil actually confronted Michele about his schedule. Michele hadn’t expected Emil to catch on so quick.

 

“The season’s over, right? And it’s the weekend? Why are you still skating?” Emil asked. There was curiosity but not judgement. Michele liked that about Emil.

 

“I’m still winding down. I’m going to start taking weekends off starting next week, then reducing weekday skating hours.” Michele lied. He would be taking the next week off entirely, like Sara. He’d meet up with Emil anyway.

 

“Ah. You guys have to lessen your skating hours slowly… figures…” Emil hummed. But Michele suspected he had already known that.

 

“I’m going to watch it. Next week.” Michele blurted. “It’s Saturday, right? The event?”

 

Emil grinned. The bruise on his face was still dark and contrasted his pale skin.

 

“Yeah! Let’s find an internet café! Or maybe McDonald’s? They’ve got free wifi and they’re open 24 hours. You have a laptop?”

 

Michele shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. He hadn’t been offering to watch _with_ Emil, but now he couldn’t say no.

 

 _He could say no,_ a voice in his head reminded him, _he just didn’t want to._

 

“McDonald’s is fine. Meet me here.” Michele said. They had reached the crossroads. “At 2.30. It starts at 3.”

 

“Got it!” Emil put his hand on Michele’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “See you tomorrow!”

 

Like before, Emil waved and headed back the way they came.

 

Michele and Sara’s parents came to stay with them over the following week. Despite his parents’ questioning, Michele still managed to leave every night to get to the alley in time to see Emil. He even circled around so that he would come at the alley from the same direction. God, this was sad.

 

“Turin has changed since we were last here.” Silvia Crispino sighed. She looked out of the window of the apartment onto the darkening street. It was Wednesday. The family had just finished eating. Antonio Crispino had cooked. Silvia never was good at it – surprising for an Italian woman.

 

“How so?” Sara was sipping wine on the sofa. She was leaning back to pet her cat, who was stretched across the shelf.

 

“Organised crime.” Antonio said as he came into the living room, drying his hands on a towel. “A lot of families have been moving some operations from Rome to here. The head office might even relocate us.”

 

“That would be nice.” Sara said thoughtfully. “To be able to see you guys more, of course.” She added quickly. “Not the part about organised crime here.”

 

“Regardless, I don’t want you walking around outside at night. Even if you keep insisting.” Silvia levelled a glare at Michele, who rolled his eyes in response. Silvia was the overprotective mama bear to a fault.

 

“I’m busy. I can’t be taking taxis everywhere. It’s safe in this area, mama.”

 

“It’s not _that_ safe. I’ve heard some prostitutes hang around not too far. Just off the main street. Haven’t you seen them? Women all caked up. Victims of trafficking, a lot of them. It’s sad.”  Silvia shook her head. Michele held his breath. For a second he thought she knew about Emil. But no, she was talking about the women who liked to play the streets in the other direction to Emil. Then Michele thought about what his mother had said. Human trafficking. Surely that couldn’t be Emil? He was too... happy.

 

“How can you tell?” Michele asked cautiously. Silvia looked surprised. Michele had never shown any interest in their work before now. “How can you tell the ones who have been trafficked from the willing ones?”

 

“Well…” Antonio poured himself a glass of wine and sat next to Sara. He sometimes worked in the human trafficking division, whilst Silvia focused more on mafia families as a whole. The cat huffed and went to sit on the windowsill instead. “The trafficked ones are often from other countries. A lot of women are brought in from Africa, but some are trafficked in from Eastern Europe or Russia, or sometimes Asia. Occasionally South America, too.”

 

Michele’s heart was beating fast. Eastern Europe.

 

“Victims of human trafficking are more likely to be abused, too. Plenty of sex workers get abuse, but it’s more likely in those who’ve been trafficked.” The older man went on.

 

Michele’s breath caught again. The bruises. Emil feeling like he deserved it. Michele didn’t like where the puzzle pieces were fitting.

 

“What about men? Is there a difference?” Michele asked.

 

“That’s very specific. Is something bothering you?” Antonio looked concerned. When Michele shook his head, Antonio answered hesitantly. “Male victims of human trafficking are more likely to be children and teens than adults. Men involved in sex work voluntarily are mostly porn stars or have female clients.” He cleared his throat. “You must have a reason for asking?”

 

Michele looked away.

 

“I’ve seen them around. I was curious.”

 

Antonio rubbed his chin. Even though he had always done that when thinking, Michele couldn’t help but associate it with Emil now. Emil did the same thing.

 

“The best way to help would be to inform the local sex trafficking division. Mind you, the man in charge of Turin is… well, he’s an arse.” He said. Sara snickered. Their dad rarely ever swore.

 

“No he’s not.” Silvia turned her nose up at her husband’s language. “He’s just tough. A hard liner.”

 

“A hard liner who arrests the victims and sends them back to their home countries with no support.” Antonio countered. “That’s not justice. They’re the victims and yet he makes them look like bad people, too. They have no choice.”

 

“They’re illegal immigrants either way.” Silvia poured herself another glass of wine and Sara shared a glance with Michele.

 

“Many of them are fleeing horrible circumstances. War, violence, starvation, poverty. We shouldn’t be sending them back to that when Italians have been taking advantage of them!”

 

“I’m not having this conversation.” Silvia shut him down and turned away. A short awkward silence ensued.

 

“I’m going to bed, then.” Antonio declared. He finished his drink and went into the spare bedroom. Silvia followed him after an hour, then two hours later Sara went into her room. Michele was left stewing over their words as the clock struck midnight.

 

Could Emil be in more trouble than he thought? Emil had never signalled that he was being forced, but maybe he was also the type of guy not to let on when he was scared. What exactly could Emil have been running from? It was possible he was kidnapped but that didn’t seem as likely. A white guy in a central or eastern European country going missing would at least spark some local if not national interest. And since Emil was the type to have a lot of friends (Michele grudgingly admitted that Emil could be friends with anyone – not that Michele was his friend. Or anything.) he would definitely be noticed if he suddenly vanished. No, Michele thought it more likely that Emil wanted to leave and was taken advantage of by traffickers, or maybe he was sold by someone with influence over Emil.

 

Michele then remembered that he had no idea how old Emil was, or how long he’d been a sex worker. Michele’s imagination ran away with him and his stomach gave a sick volt. Emil could still be a child. Emil had a beard but plenty of guys went through puberty early. Take away the beard and how would Emil look? He tried to picture it. He heaved a sigh when he did. Emil would look very young without it. Although, he was also six foot tall. The youngest Emil could be was maybe 15 or 16. At the oldest – Michele again envisioned him without the beard – perhaps eighteen, nineteen. It seemed very likely that Emil had come to Italy when he was still a child. Sold by his parents, then? Or running from them?

 

Being European narrowed it a little. Emil was unlikely to be running from a warzone (Eastern Ukraine aside – Emil would have just gone to other parts of Ukraine) or from terrorism or disease. Poverty, maybe, depending on the country. Still, Michele conceded, family violence was the most likely.

 

Something was niggling at the back of Michele’s mind. It was sparked when he tried to imagine Emil without the beard. He looked familiar without it. But that was impossible… Michele had never met Emil before their recent run-in. Maybe he looked like a celebrity? No, not particularly.

 

Michele glanced up at the clock and stood when he noticed it was time to head out. He put on a jacket and left, pushing his thoughts aside. Asking Emil questions would likely make the other nervous, but maybe there were a couple he could try.

 

Emil was, for once, late. Michele had almost started to think he wasn’t coming, but then he showed up panting and apologising before they fell into step alongside each other. Emil had a wider grin on his face than usual. He must be in a good mood. Maybe now was a good time for questions.

 

“…So, where are you from? I’m not very good with accents.” Michele said. They had been walking for ten minutes and mostly had talked about the upcoming event with the two Yuris. It was adorable how excited Emil was.

 

“Me? Uh…” Emil scratched his chin. He was clearly thinking hard. Michele wondered if he was going to get the truth. The bruise on Emil’s face was turning from purple to yellow as it healed.

 

“I’m from the Czech Republic.” Emil eventually said. He smiled brightly as he said it, but Michele could detect no lie and he decided to take it as the truth.

 

“Ah. I was debating whether it was Central or Eastern Europe. Czech Republic is kind of in between. I’ve been to Prague. It’s nice.”

 

“Right?” Emil laughed. “We’ve got nice bridges! That’s all anyone says, nice bridges.”

 

“They are nice.” Michele said, a little defensively. He had actually been about to mention that.

 

“Hey, now.” Emil picked up on Michele’s tone. “They are nice. I just wish some people would see what’s behind closed doors.”

 

Emil’s expression turned sad for a moment. Michele noted this before Emil smiled again.

 

“Still, that country is far behind me now. This is my home.”

 

They had reached the crossroads. Michele was already mulling over everything Emil had said. That’s when he realised – why exactly was he doing this? What was there to be achieved by knowing Emil’s situation? He couldn’t change it. He didn’t even know if Emil wanted it to be changed. For all he knew, Emil was perfectly willing and enjoyed sex work. Michele doubted that, though. Did he want to save Emil? He realised with a start that he did. He had known this young Czech for a week or so, and he wanted to save him. Wasn't that stupid? Was he conducting some kind of fantasy in his head? Some kind of... psychological complex? Did he really just want to be extraordinary for a while, a saviour? Or... did he actually care?

 

“Mickey~? Hey~? Are you in there?” Emil laughed and waved a hand in front of Michele’s face. Michele scowled and slapped it away gently.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, I won’t be here tomorrow. My parents are flying home and they’re getting a late flight. So I won’t see you until the event.”

 

“That’s okay. Really, I’m amazed you’ve put up with me this far. Anyway, you’re busy.” Emil sent him a warm smile. Michele found himself smiling back.

 

“What can I say, I’m a saint.” Michele snorted. “See you.” He turned and left, still thinking of ways to get Emil to open up.

 

The next evening was his first without seeing Emil since that fateful Thursday. He didn’t show it, but he was sad when he waved his parents off at the airport. When he examined why he was sad, he was startled to find that he didn’t care that much if his parents were leaving. He just missed Emil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! I definitely have PED. Post Eurovision Depression. Man, I just feel so down. It's my favourite event and once it's over it just strikes me so hard that it won't be on for another year. I start job hunting tomorrow, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have to work on this.  
> Anyway, this chapter was really fun to write! I've always wondered what Sara and Mickey's parents are like. I personally figured that they must be away a lot, maybe dedicated to their work, which in turn means that Mickey and Sara rely on each other more? So I decided to make things interesting and have them feature in the plot. They'll likely turn up later when things start to kick off.


	4. Had a Bad Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Mickey tries hard to figure Emil out, Emil still has a job to do. Mickey can't come above his job. It's a shame that his heart doesn't agree.

Emil’s week had been… normal. As normal as his life was these days. He waited every night in the alley for Mickey. He even rescheduled some of his regulars so that he wouldn’t miss seeing him. It was weird. Mickey had shown no interest in Emil as a customer. He didn’t want to fuck Emil. Honestly, Emil didn’t want that either, not like that. In a more… equal situation? Yeah, maybe he’d think about it.

 

On Wednesday he sat in Noa’s room so that she could change his bandages. She had the radio on, and it was playing trashy early 2000s pop songs. It didn’t seem appropriate for the setting, and Emil loved it.

 

“All the things she said, all the things she said, running through my head, running through my head, running through my head!” Emil sang, trying not to laugh at Noa’s expression. She was cringing.

 

“As much as I like t.A.T.u, you’re an awful singer when you’re sober.” She interrupted him. “Especially the high notes.”

 

“Ah, my dear friend, that is why you should seriously consider letting me have some of your fine New Zealand wine. You know I’m a bitchin’ singer when drunk.” Emil retorted, grinning. He knew she had a stash somewhere.

 

“No chance. You’re still under the legal drinking age until July.” Noa tugged unnecessarily hard on his bandages and he yelped.

 

“Really? In a place like this, you’re going to say something like that to me?” He pouted at her. She didn’t relent.

 

“Yes, I am. I am going to deny you because it’s something I still have control over.” She slid a hand into his hair to pet him, as she knew he liked it. “I can’t control you being here. I can’t protect you from Desi, or from clients. Or from all the stuff that could happen to you out there.”

 

Emil was quiet. He didn’t like when the conversations turned serious. He wanted to escape for a while. He didn’t want to think about where he was. The radio kept playing in the silence.

 

‘ _You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost…’_

 

“You’re just a kid.”

 

‘ _They tell me your blue skies fade to grey…’_

 

“You should be out there.”

 

‘ _They tell me your passion’s gone away…’_

 

“Studying for an exam, or coming home from a part-time job.”

 

‘ _And I don’t need no carryin’ on…_ ’

 

“Preparing for university. Or… maybe relaxing after the figure skating season has ended? Talking over your new routines with your coach?”

 

“I don’t need you to tell me this.” Emil interrupted. He sounded defeated even to his own ears. “I know. I know I can’t go back to that life.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Noa said gently. She tied off the bandage.

 

‘ _You’re faking a smile with the coffee to go…_ ’

 

“I’ve been where you are now. Hell, I was where you are now when you first got here. I’m saying it’s not too late for you. It’s too late for me. But you could still have a future.”

 

‘ _You’re falling to pieces every time…_ ’

 

“I don’t see how. You know my situation. There’s nothing I can do.” Emil reached for his shirt and put it on.

 

“You could just say ‘screw my family’ and flounce out of here, love.” Noa turned to pack away her things.

 

“No, I can’t. I love them. I won’t do that to them.”

 

“They sold you!” Noa snapped back. She never got angry, and Emil was taken aback. There was a short silence.

 

‘ _You tell me don’t lie…_ ’

 

“I have to go. Guys to meet. The usual.” Emil plastered a smile on his face. It hurt. “Thanks for the help. See you later.”

 

Emil left the room without another word. He visited his room to grab a few things and then left, almost running down the stairs and into the bar. He winked at a middle aged man there.

 

“Filippo! You’re early.” He slid into the seat next to the man. Filippo grinned, but it looked predatory.

 

“Just eager. Shall we go?”

 

They left through the side door and got into Filippo’s car. Filippo had a wife and three children. It was a turn on for him to have sex in his house whilst his family were out. Emil refused to have sex in the beds which belonged to the teenage children, but anywhere else was fair game.

 

“What are we doing today, daddy?” Emil’s eyes widened and he looked at the road. He knew that as soon as the car started, the scene began. “Can we watch Disney?”

 

“Maybe for a little while, baby. But I was thinking we could do something special. Just you and me. We’ve got all night.”

 

Inside, Emil cursed. That meant Filippo’s wife and kids were visiting her parents in Milan. Usually Emil and Filippo met up on Wednesdays at 9 and their encounter lasted two hours before Emil went home. Filippo’s wife worked late on Wednesdays and got home at twelve. The kids went to their aunt’s house on Wednesdays. The only way the encounters lasted longer was if the family was in Milan.

 

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, he preferred it. Filippo was rarely ever violent – he pampered Emil, if anything. He was an easy client who paid well. But ever since a week ago, Emil desperately wanted to be free at 12.45 to see Mickey.

 

“I can stay up past my bed time?” Emil asked, feigning excitement. Filippo only got angry if Emil went against the script. Against who Filippo wanted him to be.

 

“That’s right, baby boy. I’m going to let you stay up as a special treat, because you’re so good for me. You’ll be good for me, right?”

 

Emil giggled. He felt cold inside.

 

“Of course, daddy!”

 

They reached Filippo’s house ten minutes later. The Italian man got out first, then opened Emil’s door for him. They went inside.

 

“Let’s get you into your PJs, hmm?” Filippo suggested. They went into the spare bedroom, where Filippo kept Emil’s clothes hidden in a drawer under the bed. He undressed Emil and then dressed him in soft pyjamas, touching him and running his hands over all the skin he could find.

 

They went to sit in the living room. Filippo sat on the sofa and Emil sat on the floor by his feet, watching the TV screen. Filippo put on ‘Mulan’ because he remembered it was Emil’s favourite. This was why Filippo was one of Emil’s favourite clients. A lot of the work that went into pleasing Filippo wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t difficult at all. He just had to let Filippo care for him. It only hurt when it made him think about his family.

 

At the end of the film, Filippo changed the tone of the conversation. It had been all Emil’s natural excitement for Mulan until that point. On the inside he was still trying to figure out how to be out of here and to Mickey by 12.45.

 

“Did that make you happy? Do you know what would make daddy happy, baby?”

 

Emil looked at him. He had the art of fake crying down to a t, and his eyes were already wet. Filippo liked the tears.

 

“Do I have to touch your special stick?” Emil’s face went red. “If I do it, will you touch mine, daddy? Do you promise?”

 

God, he felt so dirty. He wondered what Mickey would think if he saw this – no, don’t think about Mickey. Don’t make him dirty like you are.

 

After he and Filippo had sex – more than once, since they had the time – Filippo seemed to be falling asleep. Thankfully men in their 50s didn’t have as much stamina as the younger ones. Emil checked the time. 12.30. It was at least a half hour run to where Mickey was.

 

“Hey. Filippo.” Emil whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

 

“I wasn’t done.” Filippo’s eyes narrowed. He sat up and lit a cigarette. “I wanted to do a morning scene. I paid for it.”

 

“I know. I’ll be back in the morning, before you wake up. I promise. It’s not to meet anyone else. Just some family stuff.” Filippo usually caved if Emil brought up family.

 

“…Fine. I’ll give you a key. If you wake me when you sneak back in, I’m telling your supervisor.” Filippo reached into the side table and took out a small key, handing it to Emil. The young Czech was a little happy that Filippo trusted him. It had been about six months since Filippo had become a regular, and he hadn’t shown this much trust before.

 

“Thanks.” Emil grinned. “I won’t let you down!”

 

He leapt out of bed and ran to the spare room to put his street clothes back on. He ran out of the house, locking it behind him.

 

Emil hadn’t felt this alive in years. He laughed as the wind brushed through his hair when he ran. He sped through Turin's nightlife, the lights blurring faster and faster and faster and god, yes, he felt like he was going home. He leapt over curbs and dodged taxis as they blared their horns at him. He saluted as he passed a stray cat, and finally arrived 25 minutes later – panting, exhausted, but _alive_ – in front of Mickey.

 

“Sorry! I got caught up.” He grinned. Mickey rolled his eyes and they began to walk. Emil's heartbeat settled down into an easy, familiar pattern. Which (he couldn't yet admit) was a little faster whenever Mickey was around.

 

At first they discussed the usual. Figure skating. The upcoming event. Emil had to admit he was excited. There was a lull in the conversation, and that’s when Mickey asked where Emil was from.

 

“Me? Uh…” Emil rubbed his beard. He didn’t know if he should mention. He didn’t know if he _could._ If he told Mickey, there was more of a chance that Mickey would recognise him from days long gone. And he really didn’t want Mickey to know enough to go to the police or anything like that.

 

But, hell. He trusted Mickey. He trusted that Mickey would do what was best for him right now. Right now, there wasn’t anything Mickey could do. Right?

 

“I’m from the Czech Republic.” He finally replied.

 

“Ah. I was debating whether it was Central or Eastern Europe. Czech Republic is kind of in between. I’ve been to Prague. It’s nice.”

 

Of course, Emil already knew that Mickey had been to Prague. That’s where they’d met.

 

“Right?” Emil laughed the memories off. “We’ve got nice bridges! That’s all anyone says, nice bridges.”

 

“They are nice.” Mickey replied. He sounded put-out. Emil wondered if Mickey had been about to say that.

 

“Hey, now.” Emil shook his head. “They are nice. I just wish some people would see what’s behind closed doors.”

 

Emil thought about his family. He thought about his parents, and his older siblings. He thought about what happened. He thought about what Noa said.

 

“Still, that country is far behind me now. This is my home.” He said firmly. He meant it. He would love to go back to the Czech Republic, but that would mean leaving all his friends to suffer here. It would mean leaving Mickey. Mickey didn’t show it, but Emil could tell he was lonely. Mickey didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. That had been true when they were younger, too.

 

Emil realised that they had stopped at the crossroads, and both of them had spaced out.

 

“Mickey~? Hey~? Are you in there?” Emil laughed and waved a hand in front of Mickey’s face. Michele scowled and slapped it away gently.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, I won’t be here tomorrow. My parents are flying home and they’re getting a late flight. So I won’t see you until the event.”

 

Emil’s heart dropped. His face didn’t change.

 

“That’s okay. Really, I’m amazed you’ve put up with me this far. Anyway, you’re busy.” Emil sent him a warm smile. He was pleasantly surprised when Mickey smiled back.

 

“What can I say, I’m a saint.” Mickey snorted. “See you.” He turned and left. Emil quickly waited until he was gone and then raised a hand to hail a taxi. Emil got very little money to spend on himself, but he didn’t want to risk getting back late to Filippo. He couldn’t take another beating from Desi so soon.

 

When Emil got back to Filippo’s house, he let himself in and stripped before he slid into bed beside the older man. He was silent, his movements careful. Waking Filippo now would violate his terms and he’s be screwed. Emil let out a breath when Filippo didn’t stir. Emil closed his eyes and drifted into – for once – pleasant dreams.

 

 

Emil moped most of the next day. Just knowing that he wasn’t going to see Mickey that night was getting him down. He left Filippo’s house around midday and went back with his spoils, which were enough that he didn’t have to visit anyone during the day. In the evening he’d have to go back out. Noa was on a date with Dylan, so he couldn’t bother her either. 

 

Instead, Emil went down to sit in the bar. For a lot of the workers it was a social spot, and they were allowed a certain amount of alcohol per day. It helped to keep them from running away… and the patrons didn’t mind the eye candy.

 

Emil slid onto a barstool next to Aila and Wolfram. Both were notorious alcoholics and spent their meagre wages on whiskey and wine.

 

“Ah dinnae see ye down here very often, lad.” Aila raised her red eyebrows at him. She was bright ginger, about 25 – he never asked for her age, that was rude and she would probably have hit him – and had enough freckles to form a hundred constellations. With her fair skin and green eyes she looked almost like an elf, and he clients lapped it up.

 

“I’ve not got anywhere to be until this evening. And you know me, I’m a people person. Got to be around others to have fun.” Emil chuckled and ordered some juice. Like with Noa, it was easier to speak English. Er, or whatever came out of Aila’s mouth. Aila’s Italian was the most basic of basics, and she never bothered to learn any more.

 

“Noa went wiz client or her boyfrund?” Wolfram regarded Emil over his wine. Wolfram’s English wasn’t perfect, but his Italian was worse. Usually they’d speak in German – Emil was fluent – but with Aila there, that would be rude.

 

When Emil first met Wolfram, he had made the unfair assumption that because Wolfram was black, he must be from Africa. It wasn’t an entirely unfounded assumption. The bar had a lot of Africans, because those were the countries where most victims of human sex trafficking came from – at least in Italy. So when Emil went to introduce himself (he introduced himself to everyone in the bar; he wanted to be friends with everyone. It didn’t always work out. Some wished to be left alone, but Emil wanted to try in any case. A good seventy percent of the workers were friendly with Emil, and the rest had told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off) he was very surprised to hear a strong German accent. The two had bonded over being the only German speakers at the bar, their similar heights, and a mutual love for Disney. Wolfram was a tall, muscled, attractive man with long eyelashes and a longer list of clients, male and female.

 

“Her boyfriend. He’s taking her out for a meal.” Emil said, thanking the barmaid when she brought his drink.

 

“T’at eejit…” Aila muttered. She was distantly related to Dylan. That was why Dylan had come here in the first place, to see if he could help her. Then he’d met Noa.

 

“I haff no idea…” Wolfram trailed off and shook his head. He wasn’t sure what words he wanted to use, especially as he was drunk, and bemusement seemed to work anyway. He often got confused by what Aila said in her strong accent.

 

“I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing for them to fall in love. Yeah, maybe he’ll never get enough money to buy her out, but isn’t it better than having no love at all?” Emil said. Mickey’s face flashed through his mind and he shook his head to get rid of it. Don’t think about Mickey. Don’t think about the way he smiled at you. Don’t think about the way his eyebrows scrunch when he’s mad.

 

“Lab, ye don’t get it. Dylan’s determined. If he wants tae do somethin’, he’ll do it. He won’t care if he gets hurt. He won’t care if he gets _killed,_ so long as Noa’s safe. So he’s feckin’ stupid. Riskin’ his life for a whore just like you or me.” Aila took her glass and downed her whiskey in one.

 

“We are not… worth lezz than other people…” Wolfram looked frustrated. He liked to talk and to argue, but only in German. Usually his conversations with Aila revolved around alcohol and he didn’t have to explain himself. He turned to Emil and said something in German, then asked him to translate to Aila. Emil sighed and looked at her.

 

“He said that just because a client might treat us like we’re worthless doesn’t mean we have to believe it. He said we’re human just like everyone else and we…” Emil’s voice dropped so that nobody around would hear them. “…Deserve better.”

 

Aila was quiet for a few seconds before she snorted and stood.

 

“Aye, right, sure. Just let me tell tha’ tae th’ john as he’s takin’ a knife tae me, aye? ‘Ye cannae do tha’, lad, ah ken ah deserve better’! Load a' shite. Am no gonna risk what wee dignity ah ‘ave.” Aila was smart enough to keep her voice quiet. Emil belatedly remembered she had a regular who liked bloodplay.

 

Aila slammed the glass down and went off upstairs. Wolfram looked at Emil and switched to German.

 

“I have no idea what she just said. Do I even want to know?”

 

“Not really. Basically she thinks it’s useless to think we deserve better if we’re stuck here with nasty clients. She’s… in a way she’s right. Thinking we deserve better does no good when someone’s beating on us.” Emil shrugged.

 

“That’s not really what I meant. I just meant that if Dylan loves Noa, if it’s true love just like how any normal man loves any normal woman, why wouldn’t he be willing to die for her? Her being trapped here doesn’t make a difference if he really loves her like that. But you know, I doubt it. A lot of people have had clients like that. They always back out.” Wolfram finished his glass of wine and stood, clapping Emil on the shoulder. “If you ever get someone like that, don’t fall for it. They just want to feel special. They want to feel like they’re the hero. Knights in shining armour. Like someone in the films, yes? See you later.”

 

Wolfram went off upstairs, and Emil checked the time. It was starting to get late, so a lot of people were heading out to appointments or onto the streets. Emil didn’t have the motivation to go out. He didn’t want to. He never _wanted_ to, but at least there was always the pay-off of seeing Mickey at some point. Tonight that wouldn’t be there.

 

Emil trudged upstairs and got dressed. Mickey or no Mickey, he had a job to do. He left the bar with a hollow feeling in his heart.

 

When he returned at the end of the night, he cried into his pillow. That’s when he knew he was screwed.

 

That’s when he knew he was falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I got a volunteering position, so I've been busy with that, and honestly, eh, I wasn't feeling too motivated either. I knew I wasn't bound to get a lot of feedback since Emil and Mickey are minor characters in the show and consequentially in the fandom. Why couldn't I have fallen in love with one of the Yuris, or Victor, or Phichit? People care about them a lot more than Mickey and Emil. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all your kudos and comments! It's just that I don't feel a pressure to update when I know not many people are reading. But I just have to remind myself that I'm not writing this for praise, I'm doing it out of love for the characters, to entertain those who also love them, and to satisfy my need to write these two and this story. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, but rest assured, it will be up... eventually. I'm moving house soon so we'll see.   
> As for this chapter, nobody gave me any feedback on whether or not Emil's interactions with his clients should be explicit, so I went for no. I can write that stuff in bonus chapters if anyone really wants it though? Oh, and the songs used were of course 'All the Things She Said' by t.A.T.u and 'Bad Day' by Daniel Powter.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. McDonald's on Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michele screws up before their McDonald's date-but-not-a-date. He desperately tries to put things right, with Chris and Sara cheering from the sidelines. Emil and Michele watch love bloom from halfway across the world.

Michele woke up with a smile on his face. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Maybe the day after Sara’s first big skating win? Maybe the morning after he had seen off the creepiest of creeps from Sara? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever being happy about things to do with himself. Tonight he would see Emil again. Technically tomorrow morning, but who was counting, right? It was only… he looked at the clock. Nineteen hours away. He hadn’t slept much the night before. His heart had been beating too fast. Nineteen hours.

 

Nonetheless, he was still smiling when Sara joined him in the kitchen as he was making breakfast. She yawned and kissed his cheek.

 

“What’s made you so cheery? Are you that happy that mum and dad went home?” Sara laughed; she was joking but also serious about asking. She had noticed the changes in him.

 

Michele didn’t like to keep things from Sara. He didn’t like when Sara kept things from him, and he didn’t want to be a hypocrite. But this… companionship with Emil was something more private. But on the other hand, he didn’t want Emil to think he was ashamed. Their whatever-this-was, wasn't something to be ashamed of, right?

 

“I met someone.” Michele watched the pastries warm in the oven and looked up to catch Sara’s surprised expression. “N-Not like that! I mean, I made… um… you know, like, someone I…”

 

“A friend?” Sara suggested. “Or… a crush?”

 

“No! Just someone I… enjoy being around.” Michele flipped the switch on the kettle.

 

“Then a friend. You don’t have to skirt around it. I’m happy for you! Can I meet them?” Sara got out the mugs from the cupboard.

 

Michele paused.

 

“I don’t know if he would want that.” He said. “Or if _I_ want that. What if he hits on you?”

 

Sara levelled him with a glare.

 

“Can’t you trust him not to? Or trust me to decide if he’s a decent guy?”

 

“I’ve only just met him. I can’t trust him with something like that. You're precious.” Michele added the coffee to the mugs and got the pastries out of the oven. “What did you want to do today?”

 

“Chris is flying in today. You forgot.” Sara shook her head. “We’re supposed to have lunch with him.”

 

Michele scowled as he plated up breakfast. He didn’t get along too well with Chris. He was constantly conscious of the other man flirting with Sara. And with him. And with everyone.

 

“Don’t be like that.” Sara nabbed her coffee and took a sip. “Oh, and he said he’s going to watch that skating event in Japan, the one with the Yuris. Victor is a friend of his and all.”

 

“I’m going to be out.” Michele said quickly. “With my friend. He… likes skating? I said I’d watch with him.”

 

Sara regarded him over her coffee for several long moments. He could see the gears turn in her head, but didn't know what she could be thinking. 

 

“…Right. Stay safe.”

 

After breakfast, Sara and Michele met Chris at Turin Airport. Michele, who could drive but had awful road rage, grudgingly agreed to let Chris drive them back to the apartment. Chris had a charity event in Turin, or something, and had asked if he could stay at their place. Michele was hazy on the details, he just knew he wasn’t happy.

 

“Ah, I’ve missed this apartment! It’s so cute. I put that down to you, Sara, dear.” Chris dumped his luggage and leaned down to scoop up Sara’s cat. The cat wiggled indignantly and then settled for a few pats.

 

“Right? Michele couldn’t design himself out of a wet paper bag.” Sara hung up Chris’ coat.

 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Michele muttered. “Can we go already?”

 

“Oui, oui. Don’t be impatient. I know you’re hungry.” Chris winked. He spoke Italian with a particular purr, but in French he sounded downright pornographic. Michele stubbornly looked out of the window. God, Chris flirted more than Emil and Emil had outright propositioned him the first time they met. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if Chris met Emil. Bad idea. 

 

The three of them walked out of the apartment and down the street, heading for a café in walking distance that Chris loved. Sara and Chris talked. Michele wasn’t interested (seriously, who cared about Mika’s new song or which X Factor he’d judge on next?) so he tuned them out. To keep himself occupied he studied the buildings. They were in a shady part of the city, on their way to one of the used-to-be-shady-but-now-quite-hipster areas of the city. Michele’s heart began to race when they reached a familiar crossroads. It looked so different in the light of day. So much less sinister. He could see round the dark corners and the back alleys. In daylight they just looked like... ordinary streets, baking in the midday sun. They were going straight on, the way he’d seen Emil turn that first night. All of a sudden Michele was scared to look into the houses and bars for fear of what he might find. His dad’s words echoed.

 

“This is actually where I’m doing some of my charity work tomorrow.” Chris’ smooth voice broke through Michele’s thoughts.

 

“Oh? You didn’t say. What exactly do you do? Is it similar to the organised crime stuff my parents do?” Sara looked up into the windows of the bars they passed.

 

“Not really. We mostly work to improve the lives of willing sex workers and help people get out if they want to. Sometimes sex trafficking comes into it but mostly it’s about poverty and drug addiction.” Chris made it sound so matter-of-fact. 

 

It was a strange coincidence. Just after his parents leave he finds out that Chris, too, is involved with people like Emil. What the hell? Why was Chris of all people involved in that kind of charity? It wasn't exactly glamorous. Sponsors and coaches preferred they do work with cancer charities, animal rescue, the usual thing people can nod and agree with and fawn over you for. Stuff that makes you look good. This didn't seem to be like that. Drug addiction… that wasn’t a possibility he’d really considered. Maybe that was how Emil stayed so happy. But, no. He’d know, wouldn’t he?

 

Suddenly Michele stopped. His gaze caught on blue eyes, staring from an upper window of a shady bar. It was Emil, no doubt, even from this distance. He could tell that smile anywhere. And the younger man was waving enthusiastically.

 

“Mickey?”

 

Sara and Chris had stopped once they realised Michele wasn’t with them. They tried to follow his gaze but Michele looked away and hurried towards them.

 

“It’s nothing. Thought I saw something. Let’s go.” He said. The words sounded like betrayal to him. He kept his head down and walked past them. He didn’t have to look back to know that he would see that expression again on Emil’s face. That same hopeless smile. He felt awful. He was ashamed to know Emil. He didn’t want people in his life to know Emil. He was a terrible person. God. He had been trying to convince himself otherwise but when it came down to it...

 

_Coward. I'm a coward._

 

Lunch was mostly a quiet affair. Sara and Chris could sense Michele’s bad mood, and they chatted quietly so as not to incur his wrath. Michele was battling with himself. He was admitting that he was a bad person, sure, but the real question was what to do about it. He could avoid Emil from here on out – no, definitely not. He couldn’t imagine that. He could meet up with Emil as planned and pretend nothing happened. Pretend he didn’t see Emil, or the sad look on Emil’s face. No. If he wanted to be a better person, that wouldn’t do. Then how could he make it up to Emil?

 

When they had finished, Michele stood up first.

 

“I have to do some shopping.” He glared at Chris. “Keep Sara safe. I’m trusting you just this once.”

 

Chris raised his eyebrows and smiled.

 

“I will protect her with my life, mon ami.”

 

Michele nodded to Sara and walked away, grumbling to himself. Usually he'd have made a comment about Chris mocking him, and didn't he know protecting Sara was important, nothing to be sniffed at, but today it didn't come to mind to mention that. He caught a taxi to the shopping district and looked around. Michele was not a man who was good with apologies. But if he bought Emil something, surely that made up for it?

 

He looked around to see if anything would catch his eye. What did Emil like, other than skating? He had mentioned different foods and drinks he liked but as for things like TV shows and films Michele didn’t think Emil had a lot of chance to watch things. Michele spotted a large toy shop across the street. The bright colours drew him in. That was very… Emil. The colours and movement, constant animation, and the technology. A few days previous, they had talked about technology. It turned out that Emil was good with that kind of thing. Robots. Emil’s mobile phone should only be able to take calls, not call out, but with a bit of fiddling Emil had made it fully functional – internet and all. It probably wasn't legal, but not a lot about Emil screamed legal.

 

Inside the toy shop Michele was confronted by an array of brightness, cuddly toys, action figures, lego sets… everything. He saw an assistant looking at him so he ducked into one of the aisles to avoid having to talk to her. By coincidence, he was standing in front of an impressive display of cuddly dog toys. They were specialist ones, consisting not only of standard breeds but rare ones too. They were probably designed for kids who were really into that kind of thing. The legs of the dogs moved when a button was pressed.

 

Michele reached for the Labrador. He paused. Lab was the name Emil went by here, so did he associate it with the bad parts of his life? His arm fell back to his side and then went into his pocket for his phone. He googled Czech dog breeds.

 

“He better appreciate this…”

 

He started to look for the breeds among the toys. It was difficult, as he found that most Czech breeds weren’t internationally recognised. He found only two – the Bohemian Shepherd and the Czechoslovakian Wolfdog. Both were friendly, active dogs. He zoomed in on the Wolfdog’s Wikipedia page.

 

As it turned out, there had been a major crime ring in Italy around these dogs being illegally bred with wild wolves and then sold at high prices. The Czechoslovakian Wolfdog’s energy could be hard to control at times and they need new activities to keep interested in training.

 

Michele thought that fit Emil well. Maybe Emil hadn’t ever had a special passion, but if he had, Michele could imagine that he would constantly be wanting to do new things, rather than improve at techniques he found boring. That old niggling thought came back to his mind. Something from the distant past, a memory, maybe, a voice…

 

_‘Step techniques? That’s boring; I already did that! Teach me a new jump, coach!’_

 

Michele shook his head. The memory was gone as soon as it came, and he decided not to dwell on it. He grabbed the Czechoslovakian Wolfdog and moved to the checkout to pay.

 

“Oh, is this for your kid? They’re very popular. Cute, aren’t they?” The woman at the till smiled at him and he tried his best not to glare. Her smile fell slightly.

 

“Sorry. Maybe for your girlfriend?”

 

Michele felt his face heat up and he quickly looked away. Seeing Emil tonight to watch something together… bringing him a gift… it was almost like a… like a _date._

 

“No way!” He protested, louder than he meant to.

 

The woman smirked.

 

“Really? Mm. We’ll see.”

 

Michele took his purchase and almost ran out of the store. He hailed a taxi and directed it back home. It was a short walk but he didn’t want to walk past the bar where he’d seen Emil. He wanted to wait until he saw the younger man in the evening rather than risk an awkward encounter now, when he wasn’t emotionally prepared. It was going to be a long, agonising wait. It was only three in the afternoon and they weren’t meeting until 2.30am. Michele moped around the apartment for two hours. Sara and Chris came back at one point, but he ignored them and continued to pace. Even Chris seemed concerned by this and at one point physically stood in front of him to get him to stop.

 

“You are making Sara very worried about you.” Chris’ hand went onto Michele’s shoulder and squeezed. Michele tried to move away.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Clearly not. If you don’t want to talk to her about it, how about me. Man-to-man?”

 

To his credit, Chris didn’t wink or make it into a lewd comment. Michele glanced towards the living room door and saw Sara watching. Michele’s heart ached to see her so worried. He had hurt her. His precious Sara. Maybe this was already going too far. Maybe he should back off from Emil and focus on her, like he always had.

 

_Or maybe stop being an idiot and tell them what’s on your mind._

 

Funny that in this case, the voice of reason in his head sounded like Emil. As if that idiot would ever say something so sensible.

 

“Fine.”

 

Michele sat down without looking, scaring Sara’s cat off into the kitchen. Chris sat on one side and Sara cautiously crept in to sit on the other.

 

“…So I fucked up.” Michele began. When they didn’t say anything, he continued. “I think I really upset someone. Someone who’s become a… an important friend. And he’s, well, when he’s upset he gets this damn look. Like a kicked puppy who still loves you. It’s sickening. I’m going to feel like shit when I see him. I don’t… want him to hate me.”

 

He shook his head. It was so hard to get this all out. He had never been good at talking about feelings. Not even with Sara. Sara didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to interrupt and scare Michele into stopping.

 

“When are you seeing him?” Chris asked.

 

“Tonight, at 2.30. We’re watching the skating. At McDonald’s.”

 

“Classy place for a first date.” Chris mused. Michele blushed.

 

“Shut up. It’s not a date! I-It just has free wifi. He really wanted to watch it. You can’t deny someone like him.” Michele sagged a bit. “I don’t want to turn up and have him reject me. It’s a long wait til I see him. So naturally I’m…”

 

“…Nervous.” Sara finished the sentence for him. She took his hands. “Mickey, anyone kind enough to put up with your personality is kind enough to forgive you. _Provided_ of course, that you actually _apologise._ ”

 

Michele grumbled.

 

“That’s the hard part.”

 

“You can do it. I believe in you!” Sara kissed his cheek. “How about we play some games to pass the time? Then you won’t think about it so much!”

 

Michele wasn’t enthused by this idea, but he nodded anyway to appease her and get the worried look off her face. Sara set up the WiiU and they played Mario Kart for a few hours. It was the only game Michele was good at, but he always let Sara win. This was especially true today. His heart wasn’t in it. He still made a point of beating Chris each time, of course, but that was for honour, not fun. At 6.30 Michele got busy in the kitchen making pizza. It kept his mind occupied. He wasn’t the best chef but he was better than Sara, mostly because he didn’t let her cook very often. She shouldn’t tire herself out making something for him.

 

“So, what’s this guy like?” Chris asked as they sat at the table to eat. Michele glared. He thought it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“It’s none of your business.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I can’t ask. Haven’t you been secretly dying to tell everyone? He must be great if you like him. You don’t like anyone.” Chris raised his eyebrows.

 

“I like Sara.”

 

“She doesn’t count.” Chris countered. Before Michele could protest, he interrupted. “Go on. Just a few little details?”

 

Michele glared at the pizza instead, unable to keep looking at Chris’ pleading face.

 

“He’s infuriating. He acts like a damn puppy, like I said before. So… excitable, and… bouncy. He doesn’t care when I tell him to leave me alone. He doesn’t care when I insult him. He’s not from around here, and his accent makes him sound… exotic.” Michele didn’t notice the smile spread across his face, slowly, like the sun rising. “He’s probably loyal. He’s tall, with a beard. He’s got really nice eyes…” He trailed off and frowned at the way Sara was staring. “What?”

 

Sara patted Michele’s hand. She had that look on her face, like she knew something he didn’t. Chris had the same look.

 

“He sounds lovely.” Sara finished her pizza and stood to gather the plates. “I still want to meet him.”

 

“…Maybe someday.” Michele stood too and took the plates off her. “Go back to playing and I’ll clean.”

 

Michele moved into the kitchen to do the washing up. He could hear Chris and Sara whispering in the living room, but he was far off, thinking of other things. He didn’t think there was much point to worrying, so instead he tried to imagine what Emil would be like if he reacted positively to the apology and the gift. He’d probably smile, brightly, and shrug it off like it hadn’t bothered him. But his eyes would tell it all. Those blue eyes were a clear sky. Uncomplicated – transparent viewing, all the emotions displayed in the flickering and clouding of the heavens in his iris. Emil’s eyes hid nothing. They would tell Michele if he was really forgiven, if Emil was happy with his apology.

 

Michele looked down at the sink. He had finished washing all the plates without realising, and he’d been cleaning the last one for at least ten minutes. He set it on the drying rack and wiped his hands on a towel. He went back into the living room and sat on an armchair to watch Chris and Sara play. At some point, he fell asleep.

 

“Mickey? Wake up. It’s almost one.”

 

Michele opened his eyes slowly and jerked back when he saw Sara’s face right up against his. She pulled back with a laugh. He noticed she was in her pyjamas.

 

“One…?”

 

“In the morning. You ought to shower and get ready to see your man.”

 

“My man…” Michele yawned and stood up, too tired to process what she'd been insinuating. He stumbled to the bathroom and started the shower. An hour later he was staring at himself in the mirror, adjusting his shirt with a frown. He had insisted that Sara go back to bed, but she had insisted harder that she stay up to help him decide what to wear. She had decided on a casual purple button-up shirt and jeans.

 

“This looks too formal for McDonald’s.” Michele grumbled as she styled his hair.

 

“But not too formal for a _date_ at McDonald’s.”

 

“Not a date.”

 

“You’re bringing him a gift.” She passed him the gift bag with the toy and he grabbed it.

 

“It’s an apology gift. Not a date gift.”

 

“Right. Totally different things.” She winked at him and pushed him towards the door. “Take a taxi. It’s not safe around here at night. You heard what Mama said.”

 

Michele didn’t reply. Little did Sara know that their mother thought Emil the reason it wasn’t safe. Some sex workers might be dangerous but he didn’t think most were. He called a taxi to appease his dear sister (and because he had his laptop with him) and ten minutes later he was standing outside the McDonald’s. He was early. Not fashionably early, either, more like too early. Like way-too-eager early. The only people inside were young people who had been clubbing and burned out too quickly. Michele went inside and picked a seat near the window, so he could see everyone coming and going. Five minutes came and went. Michele got himself a milkshake and kept looking. After another five minutes had passed, he saw Emil come around the corner. The young man’s hands were in his pockets and his eyes were to the ground. He didn’t look up until after he had gotten into the restaurant.

 

“Mickey?” Emil seemed surprised to see him, and walked over to stand beside the table. Michele looked up. Emil’s eyes were sad, and Michele felt like dying right there. “You’re early. Earlier than me. I wasn't even sure you were... I didn’t expect…”

 

“I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to stand you up.” Michele knew he sounded offended by the suggestion and he schooled his expression quickly, in case Emil thought he was angry. “Sit. I… wanted to say something?”

 

Emil sat down on the other side of the booth. He didn’t say anything, not even to tease Michele about how nervous the Italian man clearly was. An air of seriousness hung around them and Michele didn’t know how to break it. What to say. How to fix things. What would Sara do? Go straight into it, right?

 

“…I’m sorry.” He looked up from the table and looked Emil in the eye. Emil looked even more surprised. “I saw you earlier, and I didn’t acknowledge you because I was ashamed. I’m sorry.” He was quickly losing nerve and he had to break eye contact. He could feel his cheeks turning red. “It won’t happen again. You should meet my sister. She’d like you.” He had to force that last part out. He didn’t want any man getting close to Sara. Somehow the idea of people getting close to Emil hurt too. Like Emil was his secret – and not in a bad way. Like a haven. “I bought you something.” He mumbled. He handed the gift over. He was staring at the ground at this point. It felt like make-or-break and he didn’t know if he could take it if things… broke.

 

He could hear Emil opening the gift. He heard him test it out, heard the little dog walk along the table between them. Then he heard the most beautiful sound. Emil laughed.

 

“Really? I’m surprised you thought it was such a big deal!”

 

Michele looked up. He could see the relief on Emil’s face. _Emil_ had thought it was a big deal, _Emil_ had been hurt, so the young man was surprised that Michele thought enough of Emil’s feelings to even feel bad about it.

 

“Of course it’s a big deal, idiot. I shouldn’t have blanked you. You’re my fr…” Michele scrunched his body inward subconsciously as if protecting himself from the very concept. “…Friend.”

 

“Aww…” Emil’s eyes were shining and he was hugging the dog to his chest. “Oh my god, you’re so cute, Mickey. You even got me a gift. You even thought about what I’d like. It's even a Czech dog. You’re just too adorable. You actually said we’re friends!”

 

Emil blinked a few times and the tears escaped. They clung to his long eyelashes and then got caught in his beard. Michele groaned.

 

“No. No, I did _not_ sign up for crying. Stop that. Right now.” He threw napkins at Emil and stood. “I’m getting food. Open my laptop. Amuse yourself.”

 

He stood up and left before he had to deal with any more tears. As he stood in line, he allowed himself a smile. That went so well. Emil was as forgiving as Michele thought. And he called Michele cute.

 

As he picked up the food, he realised he hadn’t told Emil his password. He turned to head back and saw that Emil had gotten in anyway and had already pulled up the livestream.

 

“How did you know my password?” Michele slammed down the tray and sat, glaring. Emil grinned.

 

“You’re very predictable. ‘Sara2005’. The year she got her first gold. You should think of yourself more.”

 

“How about fuck you.”

 

“Wow, good comeback. Truly I have been roasted. You slay me, Crispino.”

 

Michele responded by throwing Emil’s food at him. To Michele’s disgust, Emil caught everything perfectly.

 

When the live stream started, the two men went quiet to watch. They shared a pair of earphones, with one bud each. They had to lean in close.

 

“Damn. The interview’s in English.” Michele huffed. His English was passable, but not great, especially with the accents mixed in.

 

“Both of their short programmes were choreographed by Victor. Now he’s asking how they feel.” Emil began to translate. “Japanese Yuri said it would be great if everyone tried out his family’s hotspring after. The interviewer told him to promote himself, not tourism. Oh! Russian Yuri just said he’s going to crush Yuri. Harsh.”

 

“Your English is good.” Michele raised his eyebrows.

 

“A lot of my friends speak better English than Italian.” Emil chuckled. He laughed harder when Victor appeared on screen. “Wow, Victor seems kind of an idiot. What’s he wearing? Ah, the Yuris are telling him off! Hah… he’d forgotten all about judging them…”

 

“Victor is definitely an idiot.” Michele confirmed.

 

The stream went on a break, and they used the opportunity to get more drinks. Michele insisted on buying, even though Emil said he had money.

 

“Plisetsky is about to start!” Emil put his bud back in and passed the other to Michele. The Italian wasn’t quite as excited, but he leaned in just as Emil did. It was good to assess your enemies.

 

The restaurant and the world around them went quiet. It was as if the two of them were there at the rink, watching, entranced by Yuri’s performance. Agape drew them in like an enchantment. Still, Michele couldn’t turn off his skating brain. Triple axel. Quadruple salchow, triple toe loop. Quadruple toe loop. He could sense the moment Yuri got tired, forgot what he was skating for, his facial expressions all wrong.

 

“He’s exhausted.” Michele muttered once the performance was over.

 

“That was so good, though!” Emil’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “He’s only fifteen, just imagine what he could pull off once the new season starts. Or even when he’s older.”

 

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Michele grunted.

 

“Huh…?” Emil looked at him and blinked. “Oh, I’d forgotten you were… right.” He grinned and looked back – but not before Michele could see the jealousy in his expression.

 

“Let’s see if Katsuki is going to be as much of a threat.”

 

The two of them were once again glued to the screen.

 

“Wow…” Michele’s eyes widened. The Yuri he knew (not so much knew, as had observed) wasn’t anything like this. He wasn’t dangerous, or sexy, or… this. Except of course for that one Grand Prix Final he tried to forget. How had that stripper pole even gotten in there? Chris probably brought it. Definitely brought it. That wasn’t the point though. Katsuki was finally bringing it. All his jumps in the second half?

 

“Ooh…” Emil winced when Yuri stepped out of his quadruple salchow. The following jumps were perfect and Yuri never stopped expressing the feelings of the piece. Michele’s heart beat faster. He could feel Emil’s proximity more now than ever.

 

Michele let out a breath when the skate ended.

 

“That was intense.” Emil breathed out too. “Who do you think won?”

 

“It’s obvious to me. Katsuki won. On interpretation points… no doubt he’s got it. Damn. The next season is going to be intense.”

 

Michele had no idea how right he would turn out to be. For now though, the two of them sat in an empty McDonalds and watched Yuri Katsuki’s acceptance speech. He declared he would win the Grand Prix Final, with Victor by his side. Victor stood behind him, holding him, bracing him against the world.

 

“They’re in love.” Emil observed. Michele blinked.

 

“How can you tell?”

 

Emil looked at him. He seemed to be looked right down into Michele’s soul, studying him like an engineer examines engine blueprints.

 

“Trust me. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I'm back! I'm sorry it's been so long. To make up for it, this chapter is especially long. I'm currently in the process of moving house, and I finished this chapter whilst stopping off back at my dad's house before I haul all my stuff back to the city my university is in. Unfortunately I have no idea when a new chapter will be up as I'm moving in a couple of days and then there'll be the unpacking etc. My best friend's grandad is about to pass, so I'm going to be spending time with her too - and to top it off, my university graduation is soon! But I promise I'll do my best. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! Wow! I really wasn't expecting that response. I guess people felt bad for me after I said I was discouraged, haha. This chapter would be much later if it wasn't for you guys encouraging me. I plan to reply to all your comments when I have time. Thanks again!


	6. Lovesick Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil is determined to work harder to protect Mickey, after Desislav draws a target on the Italian's back. His spirit is crushed by Mickey's actions, but at the end of the day he finds himself falling harder than ever.

Emil had woken up that morning feeling genuinely happy. That was a big deal. Usually he was happy. He would wake up smiling, he would say good morning to everyone smiling, he would head out to work smiling. Most of the time, he wouldn’t feel it. Happiness was like a mask he wore. He would feel _content_ as he went about his day, but true happiness? The kind he felt all the way down to his core? Yes, that was a rare thing. Even thinking back on his childhood couldn’t make him happy, not when those memories were tinged with the bitter edge of his childhood’s conclusion. Its early conclusion. He couldn’t picture his mum’s face without thinking of how much she must miss him, and how much he missed her. He couldn’t think about his siblings without thinking of the bad times, their certainty that their father was doing the right thing by going through with the deal, and their occasional contempt for Emil’s ‘easy life’ as a skater. He didn’t think about his father to feel happy; that was an exercise in futility. He had always viewed Emil as a spare. And maybe that’s what he was. An afterthought in case of emergency. After all, that’s what he ended up useful for.

 

No, what made Emil happy these days was companionship. His friends didn’t view him as a spare part or a bargaining chip. Mickey didn’t see him that way, or as something gross, or something to be ashamed of. Mickey – despite his protests otherwise – thought of him as a friend. Didn’t he? To Emil that was undeniable.

 

Emil looked at his phone. There were sixteen hours until he had to meet Mickey for the Hot Springs on Ice event. He hauled himself out of bed and stretched, wincing as his back popped. He was generally in good health, but sometimes things caught up to him. He didn’t eat enough for a man his height and he didn’t sleep much, as he was awake until the early hours of the morning most days. Emil jumped when someone knocked on his door.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s only me.” Noa’s voice came from the other side. “Dylan made brunch, you should hurry if you want any. Aila’s going to eat it all otherwise.”

 

“I never say no to free food. I’ll be there in a sec!” Emil called back. He threw some clothes on and hurried down the stairs. There was a small communal kitchen behind the bar, and the few who could be bothered to cook made things for everyone else. Today, Noa’s boyfriend had cooked up a storm. He always did, the morning after he had stayed the night. Emil thought it might be some kind of guilt complex. Dylan couldn’t help everyone here, so he did what he could. He even brought in his own ingredients.

 

Emil was almost at the bottom of the stairs when a figure stepped out to block the light. Emil figured out it was Desi a second too late, and the older man pinned him to the wall before he could react.

 

“Good morning, sir.” Emil said. His voice shook. He was trying to stay calm, but the wounds on his back still burned. Desi studied Emil’s face. The bruise was almost gone.

 

“You’ve been bringing in less money.”

 

Emil did his best to keep breathing.

 

“I’m still reaching the targets. You can’t punish me if I hit the targets.”

 

Desi proved him wrong with a swift punch to the stomach. Emil doubled over and coughed.

 

“Less money is less money, _Nekola._ I suggest you remember your place. Do you want me to tell Mr Rossi all about it? How you’ve been sneaking off with a guy who’s _not_ a client? I’m told he’s quite cute. There’s a lot of information online about your Michele, you know. Even what events he’s going to be at. Where he trains.”

 

“Don’t you fucking touch him.” Emil glared up into Desi’s eyes and snarled. For a moment, Desi was taken aback by this defiance. Emil had never stood up for himself before.

 

“My, my. The puppy turned into a guard dog.” Desi chuckled. “How interesting. But you’re in no position to be ordering me around.” His hand closed around Emil’s throat and tightened. Emil started to choke. “I don’t care who you see in your down time, but if you don’t work harder, one of Mr Rossi’s snipers might just find Michele’s forehead.”

 

Desi’s hand released and Emil gasped for breath.

 

“Are we clear?”

 

Emil held his throat and nodded slowly.

 

“Good.”

 

Desi moved past him up the stairs, and Emil stumbled out into the bar. Several of Emil’s friends were sat around a table, eating. Noa turned to look and frowned.

 

“Are you okay? Come here.” She stood as Emil approached, and hummed when he lifted his hands to show his throat. She guided him to a chair and patted his head soothingly. She didn’t ask what had happened. He was in shock, and she wouldn’t want to make it worse. She shoved a cup of hot chocolate into his hands and slid a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him.

 

Emil sipped the drink until he felt his senses start to come back. He blinked a few times and tried to smile.

 

“Thanks, Noa. Sorry. It’s a bit early for Desi. Wasn’t prepared.”

 

“Are we ever? Eat before it gets cold, mate.” Noa sighed. “That’s going to bruise. Sucks for your date, eh?”

 

“It isn’t really a date.” Emil mumbled. He suddenly wasn’t looking forward to it as much, knowing that he and Mickey were being watched. He should have known that. They were always watching. He was precious, compared to the others. The precious key of peace between the Nekola family and the Rossi family. He was putting Mickey in danger, he realised.

 

“Cheer up. You’re irresistible.” Wolfram grinned at him, speaking in German.

 

“You wish you had my charm, honey.” Emil winked and raised his fork to Wolfram. He switched back to English when he turned to Dylan. “Thanks for cooking. I would say I can cook, but I don’t think the microwave counts.”

 

Dylan laughed softly. He was clearly glad Emil had dispelled the tense atmosphere. Dylan didn’t do well with people getting hurt. It brought out his protective side, but when there wasn’t anything he could do, it just made him angry. He had younger siblings, so anyone younger than him getting hurt tended to set him off. Dylan was almost a decade older than Emil. Emil must seem like a kid to him. Maybe that's all Emil really was.

 

“You can make a lot of things in a microwave.” Dylan noted.

 

The Welshman stood to get more toast, and almost bumped his head on one of the wooden beams across the ceiling. In the small bar, Dylan looked huge. It wasn’t so much the height – he was only a couple inches taller than Emil – as it was the bulk of the man. Dylan was a semi-professional rugby player, and had a lot of muscle and power to show for it. On the inside, Dylan was sweet as pie. He and Noa were a good match for that reason. They could care for each other as deeply as they both needed.

 

Emil looked from Noa to Dylan and then down to his food. It was hard to look at the two of them, knowing that it wasn’t going to end well. They were so painfully, obviously, stupidly in love. And whilst Noa was under no illusions that it probably wouldn’t end well, Dylan was agonisingly optimistic about their chances. He really believed it would happen; that they would get away and live happily ever after.

 

Emil thought about Mickey every time he thought about Noa and Dylan. He couldn’t help but sometimes vision them as his future. He craved the idea, but it also repelled him. He was falling for Mickey. A relationship would mean Mickey loving him back (seemed unlikely, to start with) would mean kissing those lips, holding those hands, waking up to that face beside him. But it would also mean trapping Mickey, probably forever. It would mean tying a rope around Mickey that always led back to a seedy bar in Turin. Emil couldn’t do that to Mickey, who was a shining star. Mickey needed to be free, like he was on the ice. And now, in light of Desi’s conversation, it would mean attaching a target to Mickey’s back wherever he went. A finger on a trigger, ready in case Emil’s performance slipped. And it would – nobody is young forever.

 

“You’ve been staring at that empty plate for the last five minutes.” Noa picked up the plate in question and lightly knocked it into Emil’s forehead. “You’re never this serious looking. Thinking about family? Or about this guy you’ve been with?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Emil smiled and pushed back his chair. “Thanks for the food. I’ll see you later!”

 

He rushed upstairs before Noa could give him the ‘talk to me I’m your mother’ kind of look. She wasn’t much older than Emil but she had that look down. Emil’s own mum had the exact same glare.

 

Before thoughts of his mother could start to upset him, Emil busied himself with getting ready. He had a long list of visits to make today, so that he would be ready in time to see Mickey tonight.

 

Well, you know what they say. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. As Emil glanced out of the window, his eyes met instantly with the purple eyes of his friend, who had stopped in the street below. He only spent a second wondering what Mickey was doing around here before he started waving enthusiastically. Mickey stared. The man and woman in front of him – Emil assumed one was Sara, he couldn’t see the man close enough to tell who it was – turned to speak to Mickey. They were about to look up to Emil’s window. Mickey quickly broke eye contact and moved on.

 

Emil felt his heart sink to the bottom of his chest. He backed away from the window and sat on his bed, staring at the wall. He wrapped his arms around himself.

 

Mickey was… ashamed. A hole seemed to open up inside of Emil. He felt nothing. He couldn’t feel sad, he couldn’t even feel disappointed. In a way it was validation of every bad thought Emil had about himself. He was worthless. Mickey was too good for him. Mickey was a shining star, far off in the stratosphere, yet so blindingly close – too hot to touch, too important for a worm like Emil. But still, Emil felt nothing. Like a robot, he stood and finished getting ready. All his feelings had been sucked up by the black hole in his chest but still he had to go out and perform. Pretend he was having fun, pretend nobody else in the world mattered except his client when really nothing else in the world mattered but _Mickey_ and oh god, what if Mickey really had hated him this whole time, what if he didn’t show up tonight, _Mickey Mickey Micke-_

 

“ _Breathe,_ Lab!”

 

Emil took a deep breath and blinked quickly. He wasn’t even aware that he had stopped breathing, and the stars in his vision were a surprise. There was a hand on his back and he jerked away, it was too close, don’t… don’t touch me…

 

“It’s alright. Feck, ah should get Noa…am no good at this shite…”

 

Scottish accent. Aila, then.

 

“No! No, look, I’m fine.” Emil shook his head and looked around. He was on the floor, sitting against the bed. He didn't remember how he got there. Aila was kneeling next to him. He attempted to smile at her.

 

“See? No need to get Noa.” He didn’t want Noa to worry any more than she already was.

 

“Yer naw foolin’ anyone with that smile.” Aila grumbled. She leaned back, making sure she kept her distance. Sometimes Emil had panicky phases where he didn’t like to be touched, and sometimes he craved touch. It was hard for others to tell which was which.

 

“The only people I need to fool are the clients. Most of them don’t care what my face looks like.” Emil raised an eyebrow and stood up. He suddenly remembered Mickey’s face when he turned away, and the hollow feeling crept back in. Still, he remembered what Desi said. If he didn’t get enough money, Mickey might get hurt. No matter what Mickey thought of Emil, Emil had to protect him.

 

So, he went out. He went out and he did what he had to do, the only thing he was good at anymore, the only thing he could do to protect Mickey. He didn’t get back until 1am, at which point he flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. For almost an hour.

 

“I thought you had a date?”

 

Noa opened his door and looked in. He didn’t know how she knew he was in. Emil looked at the clock.

 

“I don’t know if I really want to go. I saw him today and he blanked me.”

 

“Oh, sweetie.” Noa came in and sat on the bed. “That was a dick move. But maybe he’ll still turn up? Maybe he’ll feel bad?”

 

“I don’t know…” Emil sighed. He attempted his famous optimism. “But I… don’t know until I try, right…?”

 

“Exactly! So let’s get you ready.”

 

Noa pulled him up and shoved some clothes in his arms. She even made sure he wore a turtleneck, so that his new bruise wouldn't show. Emil dressed like a zombie, slowly, whilst Noa styled his hair.

 

“You look rather dashing.” Noa smiled at him. “Don’t worry. Even if he’s not there, you’ve always got us. He doesn’t deserve you if he’s not there.”

 

Emil shook his head but didn’t argue. He left the bar and walked towards the McDonalds. He wasn’t expecting Mickey to come. He wasn’t enthusiastic about watching the skating anymore. If he couldn’t watch with Mickey, it wouldn’t be fun.

 

Emil reached the McDonald’s early. He hadn’t realised it, but he had been walking quickly. If Mickey was there, after all, he wanted to see him. He wanted to see him so bad it hurt.

 

Until the very last second, he hadn’t been expecting to see him at all. Emil looked up when entered the restaurant and his eyes widened when he saw Mickey, sitting right there, staring at him.

 

“Mickey? You’re early. Earlier than me. I wasn’t expecting…”

 

“I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to stand you up.” Mickey’s voice was loud and he sounded almost angry. Emil flinched on instinct but Mickey didn’t seem to notice. Still, Mickey’s expression softened. “Sit. I… wanted to say something?”

 

Emil sat down on the other side of the booth. He didn’t say anything. What could he say, in this situation? He hadn’t expected to find Mickey here at all. He was scared that if he did or said the wrong thing, Mickey would change his mind and go home. At the same time, Emil was angry. He was angry at Mickey’s actions, even if he’d never admit it. The silence stretched. Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all.

 

“…I’m sorry.” Mickey said suddenly. Emil’s eyebrows rose in shock. “I saw you earlier, and I didn’t acknowledge you because I was ashamed. I’m sorry.” Emil noticed that Mickey was blushing. It was super cute. “It won’t happen again. You should meet my sister. She’d like you..." Mickey paused. "...I bought you something.”

 

Mickey handed over a gift. The Italian man was stubbornly looking away as Emil opened it. Emil’s face broke out into a grin when he saw the dog. He wound it up and let it walk over the table. A robot dog! Since when did Mickey know him so well? He then hugged it to his chest and laughed.

 

“Really? I’m surprised you thought it was such a big deal!”

 

It wasn’t a lie. Emil had expected Mickey to either not come at all, come and brush the incident off, or at the most apologise. An actual gift was beyond anything he had thought possible.

 

“Of course it’s a big deal, idiot. I shouldn’t have blanked you. You’re my fr…” Mickey started and then stuttered like an old car. Still, he finished the sentence. “…Friend.”

 

“Aww…” Emil couldn’t believe this. He hugged the dog harder. Mickey was so cute it hurt. Physically, Emil’s chest actually hurt. Like when you see a heartwarming Youtube video about a paralysed kitten finding its forever home. He teared up. “Oh my god, you’re so cute, Mickey. You even got me a gift. You even thought about what I’d like. You’re just too adorable. You actually said we’re friends!”

 

Emil felt the tears escape. Noa sometimes said he was overdramatic, but this time he really couldn’t help it. Mickey groaned.

 

“No. No, I did not sign up for crying. Stop that. Right now.” He threw napkins at Emil and stood. “I’m getting food. Open my laptop. Amuse yourself.”

 

Emil laughed as Mickey went to order. He opened the laptop and hummed thoughtfully when he found it was password protected. Let’s see… what did Mickey like? Skating? No, there was one thing Mickey liked more than that. Sara.

 

“Hey, how did you know my password?” Mickey slammed down the tray and sat, glaring. Emil grinned. It was far too easy to rile Mickey up.

 

“You’re very predictable. ‘Sara2005’. The year she got her first gold. You should think of yourself more.”

 

“How about fuck you.”

 

“Wow, good comeback. Truly I have been roasted. You slay me, Crispino.”

 

After a short food fight, they leaned in to start watching the live stream. Emil had almost forgotten that’s what they were there for. When Mickey complained about the interviews being in English, Emil happily translated.

 

“Your English is good.” Mickey seemed surprised. Emil wasn’t about to brag about his language skills, so he changed the subject. Eventually, the skating began.

 

Agape was enchanting. Beautiful, really. At first, Emil understood the kind of love Yuri was expressing. It reminded him of his mum, back home, the way she doted on him. The way she had tried to protect him. His history as a skater came back to him in flashes, the technical aspects running through his brain. Triple axel. Quadruple salchow, triple toe loop. Quadruple toe loop. The sense of agape left the performance as Yuri got tired. Emil’s mum faded from his mind.

 

“He’s exhausted.” Emil heard Mickey mutter.

 

“That was so good, though!” Emil’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “He’s only fifteen, just imagine what he could pull off once the new season starts. Or even when he’s older.”

 

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Mickey grunted.

 

“Huh…?” Emil finally looked at Mickey and blinked. Oh, right. Mickey would be competing against them both soon. “Oh, I’d forgotten you were… right.”

 

Emil tried to hide the jealousy that festered in his heart. It should be him out there, too, competing with the rest of them. With both Yuris, with Mickey, with Victor and everyone else. He and Mickey could have had a beautiful rivalry. But because of the affairs of adults, this was the future which had been ripped away from him. He pushed down the anger and focused on Katsuki’s performance.

 

“Ooh…” Emil winced when Yuri stepped out of his quadruple salchow. Still, unlike the other Yuri, Katsuki never quit with the sex appeal. The message. Emil was starting to get a little hot under the collar, with Mickey being so close to him. They had both leaned in. Mickey was within kissing distance. When the performance ended, Emil let out a breath and leaned back.

 

When Katuski gave his acceptance speech, with Victor right behind him, Emil saw a spark. He saw a warmth between them that he recognised.

 

“They’re in love.” Emil said softly.

 

“How can you tell?” Mickey seemed sceptical. Emil looked at him. He felt the fire in his chest grow brighter every minute.

 

“Trust me. I know.”

 

He looked away quickly and stood before Mickey had the chance to ask questions.

 

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow night?” He couldn’t help sounding hopeful.

 

“You will.” Mickey closed his laptop. Emil didn’t want them to leave together, knowing that Desi was watching, and he was relieved when Mickey made no attempt to stand. Emil walked home, clutching his dog, feeling beyond giddy. When he showed Noa the gift, she chuckled. Something sad lit up in her face.

 

“Oh, honey. He’s got it as bad for you as you do for him.” She said.

 

“How can you tell?” Emil’s eyebrows knitted together and he regarded the dog with a studious stare. Noa looked out of the window, off into the distance.

 

“Trust me. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Finally. So sorry it took so long. Between moving house, my friend's grandad's funeral, graduation, and my volunteering job, I've just not had time or inspiration. My volunteer job became full time starting in august, because it's to do with providing nature activities to kids and of course august means all the kids are off school. It's rewarding work but very exhausting. Emotionally and physically. Last week we were working with refugee kids. I came home so emotionally worn out. Just thinking of those small, innocent, cute kids in a war zone, or in the midst of famine or other persecution... man, broke my heart. They were all so sweet.  
> Anyway, my guilt at not writing built up and here I am! I know some of this chapter is more repetitive than other chapters have been, but I'm too tired to really bother changing it too much. So once he gets to the McDonald's it's basically the same, just from Emil's perspective. I didn't take out a lot of the dialogue, like I have done before, because it all seemed too important? Then there's that little extra part on the end. And the first half is important plot stuff. I realised reading it back that we find out a lot about Emil's situation here.  
> I have no idea when the next chapter will be. Gosh, I haven't even thought of what's going to happen next, and my work is going to keep me so busy and then in september I start a master's degree. I get time off most weekends so I'll try to write then. Once I catch up on sleep!  
> Thanks again for all your lovely comments (which I finally figured out how to reply to)!


	7. Watercolours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil finally sees an ice rink again, and it's an adventure full of surprises...

“You’re skating again now, right?” Emil asked one night. They were sitting on a bench at a park they had found nearby their usual meeting place. It was slightly less dodgy than an alleyway. It was a warm night. Emil had tied his jacket around his waist to keep from having to carry it around. In the distance, a car alarm was going off. It had been three weeks since the Hot Springs on Ice event, and they were well into May.

 

“Yes. I’ve started working with my team on my new programmes.” Mickey replied. He offered Emil a pastry, and the taller man accepted with a grin.

 

“You know, you’ve been lying to me this whole time, pretending you were still skating when I knew you were on break.”

 

Mickey almost choked on his pastry. Emil laughed. The expression on Mickey’s face was priceless. Like a naughty kid who’d been caught, but was super angry about it. Emil had long suspected that Mickey was lying, for an excuse to come and see Emil.

 

“How did you know?” Mickey said. He glared at Emil until Emil stopped laughing.

 

“I told you I’m a skating fan. Knowing when the season starts and ends is the most basic of basics. You should have just said you missed me~”

 

“Like hell I did.” Mickey poked Emil’s side. He stopped glaring and a small smile crossed his face. Emil sighed. He had it bad for Mickey, and Mickey wasn’t helping matters. Every little thing made Emil swoon like a teenage girl. The Italian man cleared his throat.

 

“I was wondering…” He started to look uncomfortable, and Emil frowned. “Do you want to come to the rink with me one day?”

 

Emil’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

 

“No way! You’re seriously asking me? That’s really okay?”

 

“Of course.” Mickey rolled his eyes. He was clearly happy that his offer had been well received. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked, would I? You can skate, can’t you?” 

 

_‘Better than you think.’_ Emil thought. Instead, he smiled sheepishly.

 

“I dabbled in skating when I was younger. I liked it a lot.”

 

“Good. I won’t have to lead you around and watch you fall like a baby giraffe.” Mickey nodded. “You can meet Sara, too. She keeps pestering me.”

 

“I can’t wait. I bet I can get her to tell me all the embarrassing kid stories.”

 

“Don’t you dare! B-But just in case she does, just know that it was a _very_ vicious bird, and I was three, so…”

 

Emil’s grin widened.

 

“I can’t wait.”

 

___________________________________

 

Emil didn’t half feel suspicious, leaning against the side of the building which housed the ice rink. He was in the shade around the back because it was hot today. It had been a week since Mickey had extended the invitation and it was unseasonably warm for early June. He was keeping a close eye on the bus stop across the street. Each time a bus pulled up, Emil’s heart would race. Finally, exactly on time, Mickey and Sara’s bus pulled up and dropped them off.

 

Emil hurried towards them, even as they started to cross the street. He beamed, and Mickey smiled back. Emil could see the anxiety in that smile.

 

“Sara, this is Emil. Emil, Sara. You better treat her right!” Mickey said hotly. Sara giggled.

 

“You’re acting like he just proposed to me.” She said. As Mickey started to splutter, she turned to Emil and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Emil. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

Emil winked and took her hand, determined to make Mickey as flustered as possible. He brought the hand to his lips and kissed it.

 

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He said, making his voice deep and rumbling. It was enough to make Mickey grab Emil’s hand and stand between them.

 

“Don’t do that!” He protested. He didn't let go of Emil’s hand. Emil hummed and squeezed the hand pointedly. He couldn't help it. After months of dancing around his affection, he was growing bolder.

 

“Who exactly are you jealous of, hmm~?” He questioned. Mickey scowled, but still didn’t let go and instead pulled Emil into the building. Sara followed with a curious glance to their connected hands.

 

_‘Maybe I stand a chance after all.’_ Emil mused, even as Mickey finally let go, once they reached the foyer. The receptionist saw Mickey and Sara and waved them through with only a cursory glance at their guest. The Crispinos must be considered important around here – though they were the top Italian skaters, so naturally they’d be VIPs. The receptionist had seemed curious, and now that he was looking, Emil noticed that a lot of people were staring at him. Like he was an animal in a zoo.

 

“Do you bring people here a lot?” Emil asked. He was sitting in the changing rooms with Mickey, as the older man changed out of his jeans and into something sportier. Emil didn’t look away. Mickey tried to pretend he did.

 

“No. I don’t have a lot of friends.” Mickey replied. He left the room without another word and Emil jumped up to follow. His heart was beating hard inside his chest, trying to escape the confines of the Czech’s body. When he saw the rink, however, his heart seemed to freeze in place. His eyes lit up like a bonfire. It was like he was young again and all of the shit that happened in between the past and the present, the then and the now, didn’t exist. He was back in his homeland, waiting at the gate for his coach to appear. He always got there much earlier than his coach because he was so eager to get out on the ice. He hadn’t been able to hold himself down at the prospect of moving one step closer to his dreams. Even now, he rushed to the edge of the ice and Mickey had to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

 

“Slow down. It’s not going to melt.” Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

Emil laughed.

 

“Sorry.”

 

They sat down and put their skates on, then Mickey opened the gate and skated out first. Whilst Emil had been so excited not a minute earlier, now he hesitated. He stood on the edge of the ice, on the barrier between his old life and his reality.

 

He was shaken out of his hesitation by the brush of a hand against his own. When had Mickey moved in front of him?

 

“Come on.” Mickey’s voice was soft. He was staring at Emil with a look Emil couldn’t figure out. Mickey’s hand tugged on his and then suddenly they were on the ice. The world shifted beneath his feet and he took a deep breath.

 

“You good?” Mickey asked. Like earlier, they were still holding hands – and again it seemed like Mickey had no intention of letting go. A warm feeling started to dance up Emil’s arm and into his chest.

 

“I’m good.” Emil replied. He cleared his throat, but he didn’t want to let go first. Eventually Mickey broke the contact and skated back.

 

“So, show me what you can do.” He said.

 

Emil looked over the ice. It wasn’t busy; only a few people milled around, some clinging to the sides of the rink.

 

Without really thinking about it, Emil skated out. Again he felt his reality blur into his childhood, like a watercolour painting someone had left in the rain. He began to skate the routine he had been working on just before… before everything had gone to shit. It was a skate about family. The twists and turns of his family life at the time, the danger and arguments which rocked their household on a daily basis – everything leading up to Emil’s ‘transfer’.

 

_This is the only solution, Marika! Are you going to risk our whole family, the business I’ve built, over **him?!**_

 

_‘Him’? He’s our son! He’s not some… drugs you can trade or a van of ammunition! He’s blood!_

 

_He was an accident! We’ve got six other damn children you can cry about, and at least they’ve got potential to work in the family – whilst he, what, does his stupid ice dancing?_

 

The routine was fast-paced and the music raced through his head like a greyhound on the track as he danced across the ice. Usually he focused on his strengths – jumps, height – but this one had an impressive step sequence for the frantic music. Still, Emil’s jumps had always been remarkable and he launched himself into them with the familiarity of riding a bike.

 

_Hey, brat. Did you know dad’s sending you away?_

 

_Don’t **tell** him, Zikmund. He might run off, and then we’d all be screwed._

 

_He wouldn’t do that, Bohumir. He might be a coward but he’s still a Nekola. He’s got his loyalties right. He won’t let that damn Rossi family win. Will you, Emil? You’re not going to let us down? Think about what might happen to mum. They’d hurt her. Having seven kids might make her loose but I’m sure they’d manage._

 

Towards the end of the routine he at once became aware of two things. The first was that people were staring. Especially Mickey. The second was that there were certain things he had miscalculated, such as his lack of physical activity over the last few years… and his extraordinary height gain. Like a tree, during puberty he had sprouted up and up and up. He was no longer that gangly teenager and he had forgotten to adjust, as the last jump sent him careening forwards into-

 

_M-Mum? Why are you crying? I’m just going to go and work for them, right? I’ll go, and I’ll work hard! I’m sure they’ll just make me lift heavy stuff. I’ll try not to break my back! …Mum…? P-Please, mum, don’t… don’t cry anymore… I-I’ll be okay!_

 

-the side of the rink with a heavy thud. He steadied himself with his hands but the wall had gone into his ribs. Pain lanced through his chest. He stood there, panting and gripping the edge. The music died in his head and he was left with a barren silence. He had gotten carried away. He only meant to skate around, maybe do a jump or two. Now he might have blown it.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned slowly to face Mickey. Mickey’s eyes were wide.

 

“…What the hell was that?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up shorter than I wanted, but I couldn't bring myself to continue it when it ends at such a perfect place! I know the last chapter was from Emil's perspective as well but I wanted to shake things up a bit, rather than seeing everything from Mickey's point of view first. We're finally getting into the gritter background story. Originally I wanted this to be super slow burn and span the whole of YOI, and climax at the GPF, but I'm not sure if I have enough stuff to fill the gaps. Then again, I still need to figure a lot of things out, so we'll see. 
> 
> I start my Master's degree on tuesday! So I might not have time to write, or I might have a lot of time to write, depending on... how boring my lectures are haha. Stay tuned!


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michele and Sara struggle to figure out who Emil really is.

“You can’t avoid this forever.”

 

Michele looked up from his laptop and glared, but didn’t reply. Sara put her hands on her hips, in the same way their mother did.

 

“Have you even asked him about it again?”

 

“Of course I have.” He turned his glare onto his laptop screen as if it had personally offended him, lest she think he was mad at her. He couldn't ever be angry at his precious sister. “He avoided the question, again, like he did at the rink.”

 

In fact, Emil had masterfully dodged any mention of the skating incident for the last two weeks. Any time Mickey tried to change the subject and bring up Emil’s amazing performance, Emil took skillful command of the conversation and dragged it in another direction. He looked so desperate whilst he did this that Michele didn’t have the heart to insist. He had the feeling that he would never find out the truth if he asked Emil directly.

 

“With skills like that, he must have been at least semi-pro. Someone would have scouted him. A performance like that would have placed him well in any real competition. It seemed like a good junior skate. Did he say how long he’s been in Italy for?”

 

“No. I don’t think he ever mentioned.” Michele replied. Sara still didn’t know what Emil’s job really was. Emil had said he didn’t want her to know, and he would respect that. “We’d have met him, if he was a pro. He’s at least eighteen, surely? There would be some crossover.”

 

“Maybe… we have met him? But we don’t remember?” She suggested. She was still standing, in the middle of the living room behind the coffee table, looming over him. Michele snorted.

 

“Who could forget someone like Emil?” He asked. He felt his face heat up and he almost smiled. No, surely he’d never forget someone like Emil? The Czech man was like… like the sun. You could feel Emil’s warmth from any distance. Even now, that warmth was nestled in Michele’s heart. But the more he thought about it, the less sure he was. Emil may have changed. And a young Michele probably would not have paid him much attention.

 

Sara interrupted Michele’s thoughts by dropping a large cardboard box on the coffee table in front of him. He jumped. He hadn’t even seen her leave.

 

“What’s that?” He stared at it as if it were out to get him.

 

“It’s our skating careers. Not all of it, but the last ten years. Mum and dad have the earliest stuff. All the pictures, training camps, competitions, everything. If we ever met Emil, he’ll be in here.” She explained. Michele looked at her in awe. She was so smart! He told her this, and she nodded knowingly – then pulled him to the floor. “Start searching, Mickey.”

 

Michele started to look through the box. The earliest memorabilia was at the top, and he immediately discarded the last year or so. If Emil had only been out in Italy for a year, he’d have been a senior like Michele, and he would definitely have remembered. He started to smile as he rooted through the memories. Most of the pictures were one of them on a podium, or the two of them by themselves, or the occasional grudging group photo in which Michele hadn’t stopped yelling at the male skaters for coming near his precious sister. He moved back through the years. Two years ago, three, four…

 

He was searching a photo carefully when something else caught his eye. One of the pictures Sara had already set aside. He picked it up.

 

“I already looked at that one.” Sara said, not looking up. He kept staring. It was from Prague Culture Fest, according to the top, a training camp and performance in Prague for young people. Four years ago. The picture was posed, with all the boys of the camp on the ice. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

 

_‘Mickey! Come, stand with me!’_

Michele blinked quickly. To the top right of the image, he saw himself. He had been seventeen or eighteen.

 

_‘How the hell did you learn Italian so quickly, brat? Leave me alone!’_

Next to Michele there was a young teen. He was perhaps fourteen, though he was tall and could be older or younger. His hair was light brown and messy. His blue eyes sparkled with laughter. He looked so alive, like he could jump out of the picture and hug Michele. His arm was around the (irate, glaring) Michele’s shoulders.

 

“It’s him.” He whispered. Sara looked up from the album she had been looking through.

 

“What?”

 

“Here. Look!” He shoved the picture at her and pointed Emil out. Sara squinted at the picture and gasped.

 

“It is! I didn’t recognise him without the beard. Do you remember him?”

 

…Michele’s eyes glazed over. He couldn’t stop staring at Emil. He looked so happy.

 

“Yeah. Don’t you? He bothered me the whole three weeks we were there. You teased me about it.” His voice lowered in guilt. He had tried everything at the time to avoid Emil. Emil never let on that it hurt him, but at the end of the three weeks Michele had caught him crying in the changing rooms. He had walked on by the young teen without saying a word. He hadn’t even gone to Emil’s performance.

 

Sara gasped again.

 

“I did tease you! I remember! Oh my God, he was so cute. That Czech boy, who learnt Italian just to talk to you, right?”

 

Michele felt his guilt swell further at Sara’s words, like an ocean tide rising in his chest and suffocating him. He remembered, and it felt awful. He had been young, but he should have known better. He clenched his fists. Emil had been such a wholesome, happy teen. He was still that way these days, but a darkness had crept into his eyes. Michele’s guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but his face didn’t change. Could he have done something, four years ago, to change Emil’s fate?

 

“Emil Nekola.” Sara had flipped the picture to look on the back, where the names were written. “It rings a bell. He was in the news, two or three years ago. I’m sure of it. Google him!”

 

Michele pulled his laptop down from the sofa and pulled up a search engine. He clicked on the first news link that came up after he typed in Emil’s full name. Sara moved around the coffee table to look over his shoulder. He started to read.

 

“It says…” Michele’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat to try again. “He went missing almost three years ago. He was supposed to be at a competition but he never showed. His coach later announced that Emil had retired because of an injury.” He shook his head. An injury wouldn’t have kept someone like Emil down. “The reporter writing this seems sceptical. She contacted Emil’s school and they said he’d been withdrawn.” He scrolled down. “At the end she says… she had to stop investigating? It doesn’t say why.”

 

“I don’t understand. He’d been about to start in the senior division. He had so much promise. Why did he quit? Why is he here?” Sara leaned back away from the screen. Michele closed the laptop with force.

 

“I don’t know.” He ground out. He was suddenly angry. Emil clearly had a lot of promise, a bright future, _real talent,_ but he had thrown it all away and now he was here. A plaything, a doll to be fucked and abused and thrown away. Emil had been someone. After how hard Michele had to work to get where he was, the fact that Emil seemed to have dropped out to become a prostitute angered him. He couldn’t understand why Emil would do that. All of his previous thoughts on Emil – that he was probably being forced, that he didn’t enjoy this life, that there was a reason for all this, that all Emil wanted was his old life back – were chased from his mind by sheer anger. If he had been rational, maybe he would realise that it wasn’t Emil he was angry at. “Fuck this guy.”

 

“Mickey?” Sara raised her eyebrows, surprised.

 

“No, seriously, Emil can fuck off. We worked hard to get to that level, he did the same thing and then dropped it all to come here and…and…”

 

“And…?” Sara prompted him, but he didn’t say anything else. He stood up and went to his room without another word. This whole… thing with Emil, it had gone on long enough. It was time to end it.

 

The next evening, he took a taxi home - instead of walking to see Emil. And the evening after that he did the same, and the evening after that. For the next three weeks he pretended Emil had never existed. It wouldn’t be long before it became the greatest regret of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. So, shorter than usual, I know, but that's kind of my style when I'm writing on paper. Right now I'm writing this when bored in lectures. I'm also writing random chapters as they come to me, so I've a better idea of how the plot is going to go. Since I'm writing more, but writing on paper, expect quicker updates but shorter chapters. I also, uh, just got into Voltron. I ended up watching all 3 seasons in 2 days. No regrets. I might end up writing a Voltron/YOI crossover or AU of some kind. Emil would totally be the yellow lion - he's the heart!
> 
> I'm also tempted to write a short one shot based on the three week training camp mentioned in this chapter, where Mickey is 18 and Emil is 13. Let me know if it sounds like something you'd enjoy reading!


	9. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil's belief and trust in Mickey is unwavering despite the consequences. He will endure anything, for Mickey. 
> 
> “For you, a thousand times over”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Emil kept going back to the park every night for three weeks.

 

His friends called him naïve, and maybe he was, but he believed in Mickey. He couldn’t believe that the young Italian man would throw him away as suddenly as that. Emil hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve it – as much as he hated himself, it wasn’t logical. He could understand if it had happened straight after the fiasco at the ice rink, but it had been two weeks before Mickey suddenly stopped showing up. So Emil decided that despite all the evidence to the contrary, he would have faith in Mickey.

 

“Yer an eejit.” Aila, in particular, disagreed with Emil’s decision to keep going back every evening. “He dinnae care about ye.”

 

And that might well be true. He had known that from day one, from the very first time he had seen Mickey down that alleyway. Or before then, really. From the first time he met Mickey four years ago as a young teen. Mickey was the sole reason he had learnt Italian. His mum had a gift for languages and attempted to teach him (and his many siblings) every European language possible. Emil took to this like a duck to water, but they hadn’t got around to Italian by the time he went to the Prague Culture Fest. That evening, as he lay in bed remembering the Italian teen’s stern gaze, he had called his mum and demanded she teach him over the phone. Mickey didn't care about him back then, and maybe nothing had changed.

 

Emil wasn’t going to give up so easily. He was giving up slowly on his own life but Mickey brought him a happiness he thought he could never feel again. So every evening, he went back. He stayed for hours because he feared Mickey would show and he’d have left. Far longer than their meetings would usually be. A week in, this started to get him in trouble. Naturally, he started to lose money. He still tried to make sure he was above a certain threshold so that Desislav would leave Mickey alone. At this point Desi probably saw Mickey more than Emil did. Because Emil didn’t see him at all.

 

In week two Desi returned to his old methods to get Emil to work. He knew about the sudden rift between Mickey and Emil. He used that against him.

 

“Not even your little boyfriend wants you now. He must have realised how disgusting you are.”

 

Desi moved behind Emil’s chair and stubbed out his cigarette on the back of Emil’s shoulder. Emil bit his lip to muffle his yell. It came out strangled and desperate, but he didn’t move forward to escape the burn.

 

“You’re not even going to deny it?” Desi moved around the chair to see the Czech teen’s face. Emil didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared up at Desi, still biting his lip. “I would have thought you would be less distracted without him, but you wait every evening for prince charming to come back. Give up, Cinderella. The clock struck midnight and he realised you’re a fucking peasant.”

 

Emil stopped biting his lip. His stare morphed into a glare.

 

“He’s just busy. That’s all. I trust him.” He said. After Mickey’s mistake with ignoring him, before the Hot Springs on Ice event, Emil knew Mickey wouldn’t do that again without good reason.

 

“Or he got tired of you. You’re a good fuck, Emil Nekola, but you’re fucking annoying.” Desi moved behind him again. He heard the scratching sounds of a knife being sharpened. “Stop pining. You meant nothing to him.”

 

Desi pressed the metal into Emil’s skin, and Emil’s screams became his answer.

 

___________________

 

Emil didn’t give up. He dragged himself like a moth to a flame, every night, to the park. Every night he waited for hours, alone. Eyes closed, head tilted back, listening for footsteps. He heard nothing but the distant blare of car horns. It became steadily warmer in Turin. He stopped wearing jackets, lest he get heatstroke. It wouldn’t be good if Mickey showed up to find him dead on a bench from dehydration. If strangers stared at his scars, he didn’t care. He was under no illusions that he wasn’t as attractive as he used to be. Damaged goods. Maybe if he was hurt bad enough the Rossi family would decide he wasn’t profitable anymore and he could go home – ha! – unlikely. They would work him until he died. Even when he got into his old age, he’d be put to work somehow. Even in a factory, making guns. He had learnt how to make a gun before he could walk. If the Rossi family really wanted to make a profit out of him, they would have put him in a weapons factory. They decided humiliation of the Nekolas was worth more than money.

 

He found an odd sort of peace on that bench, away from his jumbled thoughts. Away from Noa, Aila and the dark corridors and peeling wallpaper of the bar, away from the grabbing hands of his clients. Even when he knew he had to go back and face Desi, he couldn’t bring himself to be scared about it when he sat there in the quiet of the park. It was only on his walk home that fear started to grip him each night. He imagined what Desi would come up with this time and as he did the shadows of the streets would start to close in around him as he walked, and his breathing would raise and his legs would shake, his skin clammy and – oh, lord, how he would jump at every noise and every vibration underfoot of passing cars. By the time he reached the door of the bar he could no longer pretend not to be scared. He was seventeen. He was not yet an adult despite the way he looked, and he was scared.

 

Noa and the others noticed this gradual change. Noa tried her best to mother him and dress his wounds, but there was only so much she could do. Eventually she stopped encouraging him to wait for Mickey and started telling him to stop going to the park. She gently reminded him of what she had said. Love stories don’t have happy endings in our line of work. She theorised that Mickey could come to the bar and find Emil if he needed to, and some day he may be back – but for now, she said, stop hoping for a miracle.

 

It didn’t make a difference. Emil only smiled back and said he believed in Mickey. His trust wouldn’t be broken that easily. He cuddled the little toy dog Mickey had bought him when he slept, and in the morning realised that Noa’s words had only given him more ideas. In week three, he started to visit Mickey’s apartment building. He knew where it was because he had followed Mickey home once, in particularly bad weather, just to make sure he got back safe. Every night, from his hiding spot, he saw the taxi roll up and saw Mickey get out. He knew Mickey had a car but was an exceptionally bad driver, and didn’t drive at night.

 

Mickey didn’t look happy. He looked, if possible, angrier than usual – like he had been when he and Emil first met. Emil hadn’t even noticed Mickey’s expression mellow out over the last few months, but now that the expression was back to its grumpy norm, the difference was startling. Emil rarely saw Sara, but when he noticed her looking out from one of the windows of the apartment, he could see she looked sad about something. Maybe a family member had died? That would explain the sudden distance. On the 5th of July, Emil noticed a new face. The man had blond hair and green eyes. Christophe Giacometti. They had met before, on two occasions. Firstly, when Emil was a child, about ten or eleven. Emil had gone to watch a competition Christophe had been in. Afterwards, Emil’s coach had managed to get Emil in to talk to him. The young Emil had been very enthusiastic about it, though he doubted Christophe would remember something like that. He probably had a lot of young fans to talk to.

 

The second occasion was a year and a half ago. Emil was working on the streets some nights, and some nights he had scheduled meetings. He was meeting up with a new client, who he had connected with through an old client. They were meeting in a hotel room. This wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t safe, either, but it was safer than meeting at someone’s house or in a street somewhere. Most people wouldn’t risk murdering a prostitute in a hotel. Especially one as fancy as this one. Emil had looked up at it and smiled. It was well-lit, sparkling, clean, with a water feature out front. It looked like the kind of place he would find a well-paying client who would definitely not try to kill him. 

 

On this occasion, that presumption turned out to be very, very wrong.

 

After they had sex, the man had wrapped his hands around Emil’s throat and started to squeeze. When Emil struggled the man squeezed harder and started to kiss him. As Emil’s vision began to fade, he was able to knee the man in the crotch, hard. He let go for long enough that Emil could roll out from under him. Emil stumbled to the door and struggled to open it in his panic. He felt a hand on his arm which spun him and quickly had him pinned to the wall. The man had a knife, now. With a hand around Emil’s throat he started to carve into Emil’s chest with the other hand. Emil would have screamed but he couldn’t breathe and a choked groan was all that passed his lips. Black started to crowd in from the edges of his vision. Again, he did the only thing he knew would work – kicking his assailant in the balls. He kicked with all his might and pushed the man off, this time getting the door open.

 

Naked as the day he was born, he had run down the corridor and knocked hard on a door around the corner. He had picked the door at random. He could hear the enraged man screaming.

 

“Where the hell are you, you fucking slut!?”

 

The footsteps were heading in his direction. They were getting closer, closer, shit, he was going to find him –

 

A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind him.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

Emil had been panting hard, terrified, and unable to reply. He stared into the face of Christophe Giacometti and found a dressing gown being pressed into his hands.

 

“Here.”

 

“But… but I’ll… get blood on it…” Emil stared at the dressing gown. Christophe took it back and then put it on Emil himself.

 

“I don’t mind. Please, sit down.”

 

Christophe guided Emil to the bed and pulled out his phone. Emil caught his hand.

 

“Please don’t.” He said quietly. Now that he was calming down from almost dying, he could think rationally. No police. He could recognise Christophe now, too. He looked away so that Christophe couldn’t see his face, just in case he would be recognised in return.

 

“I see.” The phone was put down again and Christophe sighed. “You’re very young to be in that kind of work.”

 

“That’s what they like about me.” Emil shivered. He thought he could hear Christophe curse. This had been before Emil had grown his beard. He had looked his age. He fell asleep on that warm bed, with Christophe watching him from the chair. In the morning he found that Christophe was gone but had left him some clothes and a note. The note said that Christophe had a meeting to go to and would be back in the afternoon. Emil was long gone by then. He couldn’t risk the famous skater going to the police. He kept the clothes he had been given. Sometimes he would find the warm jumper in his drawers and hug it and remember that someone cared.

 

Emil heard from Mickey a couple of months back that Christophe had set up his own charity not long after their meeting. It apparently helped young sex workers get out of the trade, if they wanted to. He wondered if he was the reason for it. He wondered if that meant his life was worth something, if it meant he had helped people.

 

If he could leave this world as a person who had facilitated change, it would be a perfect end to an imperfect life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?! Another chapter?! So soon?! Yep, that's right lads and lasses. I wasn't kidding when I said I was writing a lot in lectures. I find that writing something completely unrelated to the lecture actually really helps me to concentrate on what's being said. I've been writing this chapter for a few days and it's ended up super long, so I've cut it down the middle into two chapters. That means that the next chapter will be with you soon, since I'm almost done with that.  
> The whole thing with Chris was totally unplanned. It just... wrote itself. I wanted Chris to be there for something that happens soon, and suddenly I just wanted Emil and Chris to know each other. Emil calls Chris by his full name because he doesn't know Chris well enough to shorten it.


	10. Ramifications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse. Emil's friends desperately try to help him.
> 
> “It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime...”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - this chapter contains some pretty brutal stuff. There are fairly graphic descriptions of torture and injuries. If this bothers you, please skip to the end note, where I have summarised the chapter.

On the evening of July 7th, there was a knock on Emil’s door. This was followed by silence. Only Desi ever knocked without saying anything, so Emil was reluctant to open up. For once it wasn’t for punishment.

 

“You have a client in half an hour. Get ready. He wants you dressed.” Desi said. A dangerous smirk washed over his face before it ebbed away again, though Emil paid it no mind. So Desi was an arsehole, what’s new, right?

 

Emil took a shower, prepped himself, and dressed in loose jeans and a white shirt. He learnt early on that some clients didn’t like skinny jeans because although they looked good, they were hard to get off in a hurry. If this client was the type to want to rip Emil’s clothes off, he might get angry.

 

Emil sat on the bed until the door opened. He stood and smiled warmly at the client. The smile froze in place and then fell slowly. No. This couldn’t be happening.

 

Alessandro.

 

Emil recognised him from the incident with Concetta, when he had seen Alessandro leaving her room covered in blood. He was tall, taller than Emil. His hair was black, and his eyes were hazel. They pierced through Emil as if they could read every thought he’d ever had. His skin was lightly tanned – but lighter than Mickey’s – no, don’t think of Mickey now, don’t compare him to this, this…

 

“You’re beautiful.” Alessandro closed the door behind him. He was speaking in English and Emil shivered at the purr in the accent. When Mickey attempted to speak English, that purr was echoing, it went through Emil like a pleasant shock of electricity. When Alessandro did it, it sounded beyond predatory. No, it sounded monstrous. Destructive. “And that smile…” He continued. “I can’t wait to break it.”

 

Emil took an involuntary step back. Alessandro was on him before he could blink, grabbing his hair and kissing him hard. Alessandro’s hands then found Emil’s shirt and ripped, tore, pulled until the shirt lay in shreds on the floor. Emil did his best to kiss back but Alessandro dominated absolutely, biting and pulling and pushing all he wanted. Alessandro shoved Emil onto the bed and viciously removed the jeans, throwing them onto the floor where they sat in three pieces. Emil hadn’t worn underwear, but now he wished he had.

 

Suddenly Alessandro seemed to change his mind about something. His movements became gentle. He touched up and down the length of Emil’s body, sucked on his neck, and slowly rubbed him into hardness. He started whispering sweet nothings into Emil’s ear. I love yous and compliments about his body, his hair, his eyes. Alessandro slipped back into speaking Italian. As he slid his fingers into Emil, he chuckled lowly at the responding moan. Emil didn’t understand what was happening. Alessandro was supposed to be evil. He was supposed to hurt – but this was the most pleasant sex Emil’d had for a long time. The closest thing to real sex with a lover. Alessandro even used a condom, which Emil hadn’t been expecting. They moved as one, giving and taking and mutually enjoying themselves.

 

“Ah-! Alessan… fuck-!”

 

Emil climaxed with Alessandro’s name on his tongue. His head spun and a pleased warmth spread through him. He felt like he could happily curl up and fall asleep. Whilst he was still out of it, he felt himself being turned onto his front. There was a jangling sound, like metal being shifted against metal. A hand carded through his hair and forced his head down onto the bed.

 

White-hot pain exploded on the back of his neck. He jerked and tried to get away with a surprised cry, but the hand kept him down and his legs were being pinned. He couldn’t get his arms behind him to push Alessandro off. It was worse than the cigarettes. It was as if a hundred cigarettes at once were being pushed onto his skin in sharp, scalding pain. Fuck, fuck – hell, he was being _branded._

 

All at once Emil understood what was going on. He was smarter than most gave him credit for. He understood people as much as he understood electronics and although Alessandro was hard to read, he understood as soon as the first brand was pulled away from his neck. It took Emil’s skin with it, and the bitter smell of burnt flesh filled the room. Alessandro had seen something in him, a kindness-

 

_-With the next brand he tried to muffle his cry and Alessandro laughed at the attempt-_

 

-which meant that association was the best way to break him. Alessandro could-

 

_-and pressed harder with the next two. With the last letter he-_

 

-treat him with gentle tenderness, like a lover, like they were having loving and consensual sex. And then he could-

 

_-pressed lighter but pressed longer, he didn’t let up, Emil screamed again. It was like the metal was-_

 

-hurt him, break him, destroy him, until every loving touch reminded him of-

 

_-eating into his skin, dissolving it, going through him. When Alessandro finally – finally! – pulled away, he began to go over the brands again with a knife, holding him down as the blood-_

 

-the pain, the smell of burnt flesh, until every soft kiss and caress could make him flinch. Until he believed that every ‘I love you’ and every feather-light stroke would be followed by hurt-hurt-hurt-

 

_-trickled down his sides it hurt-hurt-hurt his vision got fuzzy and faded – he…passed out._

 

He didn’t stay in the blessed darkness for long. He awoke not even a minute later to more pain, more burning. Alessandro had turned Emil onto his back and was now branding his chest. More letters this time. He didn’t dare look down to see what the Italian was spelling out. He had stopped screaming. His voice was too raw and he fumbled into confused sobbing. Why was this happening? Why him?

 

The new word ended just above his crotch. He curled up into a foetal position as soon as Alessandro let him. Alessandro turned gentle again. He kissed him and caressed him, lapping up his tears with a rough tongue. Emil whimpered and tried to push him off but this only seemed to make Alessandro angry again.

 

Emil was dragged off the bloody sheets by his hair and dumped on the floor next to his ruined clothes. Again he passed out and again he was brought back by sharp agony. He looked down and gagged. A nail pinned him to the floor through the palm of his hand. Alessandro stood over him with a nail gun.

 

“You’re so hot. All arranged for me. Spread out like a buffet. So pretty.”

 

A hammer came down hard on his arm and he choked. He couldn’t move his arm out of the way without tearing his hand apart but Alessandro wasn’t letting up and oh god was that bone, sticking out of his arm, pearly white and gleaming with ruby blood – hell – he couldn’t – he turned his head to the side to vomit. He begged whatever gods or goddesses were out there that he could just faint again and sleep through all this.

 

But Emil had always been an atheist, and the gods didn’t forgive.

 

______________

 

Noa prided herself on many things, because she didn’t have a lot else going for her. If she could focus on her caring side, on the fact that she had yet to lose her humanity, she had yet to become a cynic… maybe she could forget that she had no education. Maybe she could forget that she wasn’t taken seriously because her gender didn’t match her body. She could forget all that, when she took the others into her arms to mother them. She genuinely cared and loved them, but she also did it because it made her feel important.

 

She hadn’t been important to her own family, she wasn’t important to society. If she died tomorrow, she needed something to leave behind. She needed somebody to mourn her. Lab, Aila and all the others could be that for her, if she could be what they needed in return.

 

It wasn’t like that with Dylan. She didn’t need Dylan to justify herself, she needed him because she loved him. He loved her too. And in a way, she needed him because he gave her hope. Even when she knew that hope would get them nowhere, it was nice to have something to look forward to. A light at the end of the tunnel, even if she knew she would never get there.

 

On this particular night, Noa had been out to a client. A pleasant regular who respected her pronouns even if he didn’t always respect her body. When she got back to the bar, a peculiar hush had befallen it. The walls weren’t thin up in the living quarters but you could hear what was going on if you had sharp ears. Tonight, when she reached the top of the stairs, she could hear screaming. A man, screaming as if he could be dying. Then the screams would fade, and faint crying took its place. She couldn’t tell which room it came from, but all the other rooms were silent. Wolfram’s door opened and she saw Wolfram and Aila waving her in. When she was in, she turned on them.

 

“What’s going on?” She whispered. She could sense urgency in their fleeting glances to each other and the door.

 

“He is here. Alessandro.” Wolfram tangled the fingers of one hand in his afro. Noa felt the blood drain from her face.

 

“Who?” She asked. They knew she was asking whose room Alessandro had gone into. Aila and Wolfram glanced at each other again. They were clearly debating if they should tell her. “Bloody tell me, you drongos, or I’ll go knock on all the bloody doors until I find out. Don’t think I won’t.”

 

“…It’s Lab.” Aila deflated. Her usual anger was gone. She went over to Wolfram’s bed and snatched a bottle of whiskey. “But ye already ken, aye? Yer naw stupid.”

 

Noa let out a shaky sigh and sat down on the bed. Aila was right. She had known. Desi had been harsh on Lab recently and Desi only assigned Alessandro to workers he hated. Noa hadn’t wanted to believe it.

 

“How long has he been in there?” She asked as she accepted the whiskey bottle from Aila. She rarely drank, and now wasn’t the time if Lab would need her, but one shot for courage seemed necessary. Wolfram checked the time.

 

“Three hours.”

 

Noa took a longer drink than she had planned, on hearing that.

 

“Do you zink… he vil… die?” The German man remained standing. Nobody answered him, but he hadn’t been expecting an answer. He had been the only one to voice what they were all thinking, and for a second everyone in the room hated him for it.

 

Another hour went by before Noa heard a door open down the hall. She rushed to open Wolfram’s door, despite Aila and Wolfram hissing at her not to. She only opened it a crack. She wasn’t stupid, and she knew that Alessandro seeing her could put her in danger. She peeked through just in time to see the monster walk past. His clothes were noticeably bloody and he had a bag with him, which jangled with each step he took. The bastard was humming pleasantly as he went, and he looked over his shoulder when he reached the door to the steps. He looked right at her.

 

“Good luck.” He said, before he disappeared onto the streets of Turin. As soon as he was out of sight, Noa tore the door open and ran to Lab’s door. She didn’t bother knocking. She pulled the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall and left a sizable dent.

 

She spotted Lab immediately. He was prone on the floor to the right of the bed. His arms were spread out like Jesus on the cross. There was blood… _everywhere._ On Lab, on the floor, on the walls, on the bed, on the _ceiling_. She went closer and knelt next to him. Immediately, there was blood on her, too. She put two shaking fingers to his neck and let out a breath. He was alive.

 

“Lab? Hey, mate, can you hear me?” Noa didn’t want to look down. Didn’t want to look at the injuries. “…Emil? Hey…” He had only told her his real name a week before. He hadn’t mentioned it even once, in the last three years, but he told her last week. And he had only said it because he had been talking about how he had trusted Mickey with ‘Emil’ from the start.

 

“Feckin’ shit…” Aila was behind her and Wolfram was still in the doorway. The Scottish woman knelt on Lab’s other side. Noa risked taking in the whole picture. It wasn’t pretty. 

 

The left side of Lab’s face was covered in blood, originating from under the closed eyelid. The blood trail went down, into the beard, and onto the neck. On his chest there were – Noa had to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself throwing up – brands, letters burnt into the skin going down. A-L-E-S-S-A-N-D-R-O. On the sides of these, dark bruises were showing up. Lab’s ribcage didn’t look normal. His breathing didn’t sound normal. His _arms_ looked like they belonged to _someone else,_ someone laying in the opposite direction, because she was sure they didn’t naturally bend like that. She could see bone. She gritted her teeth and looked at the hands. They looked okay, other than the nails sticking through them.

 

“Wolfram, can you pull out these nails?” She waved him over. He looked like he was about to be sick. She didn’t know if he was taking in what she was saying, so she pointed out the nails. “We can’t move him unless you get them out.”

 

Whilst Wolfram and Aila worked on the nails, Noa moved down to Lab’s legs. Two more nails were shot through his ankles and she winced in sympathy. She hoped it wouldn’t hold Emil back if he ever got out of here and went back to skating. His left leg looked okay – bruises and cuts – but the right leg’s kneecap was heavily bruised and clearly dislocated.

 

“He’s naw breathin’ right.” Aila’s voice shook.

 

“We can’t take him to a hospital.” Noa said slowly. The nails were out now and Lab was free. She was supposed to be the mother, the leader, but she didn’t know what to do.

 

“…Mickey…” A rough voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked down at Lab. His right eye had opened and he was looking at her. “I…I need…”

 

“Are you sure?” It was rhetorical. She knew she would want Dylan, if she was in his place. Lab had passed out again, anyway. “Wolfram, can you carry him?”

 

“Carry?” Wolfram blinked at her. Once his brain caught up and translated he frowned. The two males were the same height, but Emil was skinnier. “Yes.”

 

With a plan finally in mind, Noa helped Wolfram pick Lab up. They decided bridal style would be safest, to avoid touching the arms or legs too much. In the process, she noticed Lab’s back didn’t look much better. Bloodied brands. R-O-S-S-I.

 

Noa and Wolfram left Aila to clean up and went out onto the dark streets. It was around eleven at night and she prayed that Mickey wasn’t asleep yet. She knew where he lived. Lab had told her. She directed Wolfram, heart in her throat, begging her legs to move faster, begging traffic lights to be on her side, begging curious members of the public not to stop them or call the police. They looked very suspicious. An androgynous young person and a tall black man carrying an unconscious, very naked, very bloody teenager. By the time they stopped outside of Mickey’s apartment building, she was sure at least one person must have contacted the authorities.

 

Noa paused at the door. She thought she knew the apartment number, but now she doubted herself. If she got it wrong, this could go south quickly. 3B. 3B. That’s what Lab said. She was sure. Was she?

 

She pressed the intercom button for that apartment. After a few long moments, someone picked up. A smooth voice – speaking Italian, but not an Italian, shit – came through.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello.” Noa’s voice was still shaking. Her Italian wasn’t the best but she hoped she could pass. Wolfram’s Italian was, after all, even worse than hers. “I am looking for Mickey?”

 

The voice noted the accent and switched to English.

 

“Yes, he’s here. Let me get him for you.”

 

Noa’s knees felt weak. She had got it right after all.

 

“Yeah?” Another voice came to the phone, back to Italian. It sounded irritated. No, angry. This must be Mickey. Noa summoned her limited Italian again.

 

“Please, sir. I-It’s Lab. I, er, or, Emil. He is hurt. It’s bad. Please. He could die.”

 

The intercom went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SUMMARY FOR THE SQUEAMISH: Alessandro shows up and tortures Emil. Noa, Aila and Wolfram find him after and take him to Mickey's apartment. 
> 
> Phew. That was intense. Originally I was going to include the whole torture scene but it didn't feel right going on like that. It didn't feel productive, or that it added anything. So some of the injuries, right now, are a mystery. I'm sorry if this chapter starts a bit oddly. Like I said before, it was originally the second half of the last chapter, but it got too long. I'm also... sort-of sorry for having Noa's perspective? I know some people don't like OCs (in general, not necessarily just mine) but there was no other way of getting Emil to Mickey's apartment. He certainly wasn't going to walk in that state! And honestly, I love my OCs. I won't apologise for that! I might have a chapter from Chris' perspective soon, too. Might be interesting. I'm already working on the next chapter, so you won't have to live with this cliffhanger for long. Toodles!


	11. Comprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's not breathing!"
> 
> “But better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini

“Please, sir. I-It’s Lab. I, er, or, Emil. He is hurt. It’s bad. Please. He could die.”

 

Michele’s finger slipped from the intercom button. He stared at the call box, frozen, for a split second. Then, before he knew it, he was running, flying down the stairs. He had a vague idea someone was calling his name behind him but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He had to get to Emil. He couldn’t lose Emil.

 

He opened the door with such ferocity that that people behind it jumped back. The one in front, a lightly tanned person with curly hair – he couldn’t tell if man or woman – found their voice first.

 

“You’re Mickey?” They asked. Michele didn’t answer, because he was too busy running them over to get to the tall man holding Emil.

 

“Emil?!” Michele brushed back some of the Czech teen’s hair and swallowed the panic that rose in his chest. Emil needed him. Emil needed him to stay level-headed but oh, fuck, his arm, what the fuck, was that bone, his face was so pale, so bloody – and, and, and – his chest! Were those _brands?_ And his breathing, fuck, fuck, he wasn’t breathing right, struggling like he had emerged from an hour underwater –

 

“Mickey. Calm down.”

 

A hand on his shoulder grounded him again. Chris’ low, soothing voice calmed his tremors.

 

“Get him inside.” Chris nodded to the tall black man carrying Emil. But there seemed to be a language barrier, because the man didn’t move. The man seemed to realise something and said something quickly in – was that German? Chris raised his eyebrows and responded in kind. Then everything was moving quickly, they were in the lift, then they were in the apartment and Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off of Emil’s pale face, the glittering blood on his cheek, gluing together the eyelashes. How many times had he counted those eyelashes? As they had sat together all those nights, Emil’s eyes closed, head tilted back, listening to the sounds of the park.

 

Someone was hugging him. Probably Sara. Emil was now laid out on the floor of the living room. Chris was on Emil’s left side. The mystery androgynous person knelt on Emil’s right. Michele moved closer. He had to be closer. Chris hovered over Emil, top to toe, trying to figure out what to prioritise. He froze when his fingers ghosted over an old scar in the shape of an X. His mouth turned up in a bitter smile.

 

“Hello again, old friend.”

 

Michele took another step forwards.

 

“Is he okay?” He realised it was a stupid question but nobody pointed that out. Emil’s harsh breathing filled the brief silence.

 

“He needs a hospital.”

 

“No hospital.” The androgenous person responded immediately. Although Chris had been speaking Italian, it seemed they had recognised the word. They were still speaking English, and they had an odd accent which was hard to place. “He can’t. It would make everything so much worse. Trust me. I know his situation.”

 

“He has a collapsed lung. He needs surgery on his arm. If he doesn’t get to a hospital, he’ll die.” Chris’ eyes narrowed but he managed to keep the anger out of his tone.

 

“I’ll pay.” Michele spoke up, also in English because the conversation seemed to have switched that way. “Off the grid. Private hospital, fake name. No questions. I’ll do anything.”

 

Sara – when did she move next to him? – tugged on his sleeve.

 

“I don’t understand what’s going on, but I’ll call mum and dad. They’ve got the connections.”

 

Michele didn’t want to deal with the questions their parents would ask but it was the only way. He nodded to Sara.

 

A pained moan brought him back to Emil. Chris was bandaging Emil’s arm and eye to stem the bleeding. Sara had given her car keys to the German man, so he could bring the car around front. For now there was nothing Michele could do to help. Feeling useless, he knelt next to Emil’s head and stroked his hair. There was so much he wanted to say. The words caught in his throat and festered there like ugly maggots. They weren’t ugly words – _I’m sorry, I didn’t know this would happen, I’m sorry, I missed you, I love_ – but he felt ugly. No, it wasn’t the words scraping and wiggling and boring into him, it was guilt. Ten times worse than the guilt he had felt over the last three weeks. This was his fault. The glare of the curly-haired stranger confirmed it for him.

 

“The car’s outside. Let’s go.” Sara stated from the window. Chris picked up Emil and they all hurried downstairs to the car. The German man stood next to it. He and Chris talked in rapid-fire German as Chris put Emil on the back seat.

 

“Mickey. You drive. You don’t care about traffic laws.” Chris said. Sara looked like she wanted to protest but she stayed silent. Curly spoke up.

 

“I’m coming too.” They demanded. Nobody wanted to argue with them.

 

Michele climbed into the driver’s seat. Chris sat next to him. Curly sat in the back with Emil’s head on their lap. Michele nodded to Sara and firmly glared at the German man.

 

“Don’t touch my sister.” He said. The German man held up his hands. Michele had no choice but to trust this man with her safety for now. He started to drive. He was fast and reckless, but not dangerous. Not when he carried such precious cargo. He overtook any car that found itself in his way. Chris had a map on his phone, and was quietly directing him over Emil’s gasping breath in the back of the car.

 

“I’m Noa, by the way. Noa with no ‘h’. She and her pronouns, please.”

 

Chris glanced back and smiled.

 

“Nice to meet you, Noah-with-no-h. I’m Chris. Where’s that accent from? It’s not English, but it’s not quite Australian.” He asked.

 

“New Zealand. It’s nice to meet you too, Chris. I wish it were under better circumstances.” Noa replied. She kept talking to distract them from Emil’s breathing, which was only getting more desperate. “…It’s his birthday tomorrow.” She whispered it, like it was a taboo secret. Michele’s hands tightened on the wheel.

 

“How old is he turning?” Chris asked. His voice was softer. He had gone pale and his smile dropped.

 

“Eighteen.”

 

Michele sped up. Emil was so damn young. Noa didn’t look older than 20 herself.

 

“I thought he must be about that age. He looks older but he looked his age when I met him and he was around sixteen then.” Chris eventually said.

 

“You’ve met before?” Noa’s green eyes shone in the street lights when Michele caught her eye in the mirror. He looked away quickly.

 

“Once.” Chris replied. “I helped him hide from a bad client. I hardly recognised him when I saw him again just now, but I saw the scar the man left and it came back to me.”

 

“No, you’ve probably… met him more than once.” Michele spoke up for the first time since he started driving. “Even if you don’t remember.”

 

“What do you mean?” Chris was looking at him. Staring. He felt the intention of that gaze. The question in the expression. _‘What do you know that I don’t?’_

 

Noa and Michele spoke at the same time, suddenly, both panicked.

 

“We’re here!”

 

“He’s not breathing!”

 

Chris sprang into action. He leapt from the car and grabbed a nurse from the hospital emergency entrance. The nurse called over some help and suddenly the car was swarmed with people shouting and assessing. Somewhere in the organised chaos, Emil was moved inside. Noa and Chris followed the crowd in. Michele was left alone in the car. His heart pulled him frantically towards Emil but he compartmentalised and instead went to park the car. He sat in the car park alone, in the quiet, in the dark, for several minutes. In the end he gathered the courage to go inside. He spotted Chris and Noa in a corridor, outside a set of double doors.

 

“They got him breathing again. They’re working on him now.” Chris muttered. “Sara called. Your parents sorted everything. Witness protection style stuff.”

 

Everyone was silent. Michele sighed heavily. Emil was breathing again, but he was not out of the woods. Michele could tell what Chris wanted to ask, so he spoke up before the Swiss man could.

 

“He used to be a skater. He’s the Emil I was talking about before. Who I watched the Hot Springs on Ice event with.”

 

“He used to skate…?” Chris raised his eyebrows. In a normal situation he would be teasing Michele right now, excited about the prospect a friend finding love. But this wasn’t a normal situation. Michele nodded.

 

“Professionally. He never made it to seniors because he had to come here. Emil Nekola. Do you remember?” He brought up the picture on his phone of the young Emil. Chris lit up after a long pause.

 

“Yes! He came to talk to me after a competition. He was so enthusiastic.”  He paused. “So how did he end up here? Doing this work?”

 

“He was sold.” Noa said softly. Chris and Michele stared at her as if she had shouted it to the heavens. “I don’t know all the details. He never told me. I know he’s paying off some kind of debt between his family and a family in Italy. I know it’s complicated. Organised crime stuff. With my family it was a straightforward case of my mum selling me off because…” she trailed off. “…That’s not important. I just know it would be really bad if he got caught as an illegal immigrant and sent back.”

 

“Hence not wanting to send him to hospital.” Chris concluded.

 

Noa and Chris started to talk about something else – Chris’ charity, it seemed – but Michele was shocked silent. It made sense. Some of the evidence pointed to human trafficking being the case, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. The organised crime angle, though… that, he hadn’t anticipated. He would have to talk to his parents. His dad would be the obvious one to ask. He wasn’t as judgemental. Although – he didn’t want to out Emil without asking first. He would talk to Emil and convince him that Mr and Mrs Crispino could help him. Whatever feud Emil’s family had with the Italian mafia, young Emil should have been kept out of it.

 

Michele looked up when a doctor came through the double doors and came over to them. She introduced herself as Dr Marino.

 

“Are you the next of kin?” She asked. She looked dubious about that, glancing between the mismatched trio.

 

“Yes. I’m his temporary next of kin.” Chris spoke up. When Michele stared at him, he shrugged. “Your parents sorted it out, Mickey. They thought I’d be more level-headed than you.”

 

Michele growled but he didn’t protest. He hated to admit it, but his parents were right. Chris wasn’t as emotionally tangled up in Emil’s care.

 

“We have him stabilised and we’ve assessed the worst of his injuries. He had a collapsed lung which we have now re-inflated. We’ve re-bandaged the arm with the compound fracture but it will need surgery soon to pin the bones back into place. The other arm was more straightforward and it won’t need surgery, just an x-ray and a cast. Until he wakes up, we won’t know if the injuries to his hands and ankles caused any nerve damage. His knee was dislocated. We put it back into place. It will need an x-ray, and it’ll need splinting. The brands on his chest and back have been bandaged but they’re liable to infection, so we’ve started him on painkillers. His eye…” She went onto the next page of paperwork. Michele felt sick. “…will need to be looked at by a specialist. It might need removing. Almost certainly, he’ll never see out of it again.”

 

Michele sunk down onto a chair and stared at the cold, white floor. Dr Marino went on.

 

“We’ve just taken him up to x-ray. He’ll be in a lot of pain, so we’re keeping him sedated until after surgery.” She frowned, now looking more sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but it’s best you don’t see him until after surgery.”

 

“I’ll wait.” Michele finally looked up at her. “I’m staying until he’s awake. I have to be there. I have to tell him…” He trailed off. He had to tell Emil how sorry he was. The doctor nodded.

 

“We’ll keep you informed.” She said. Chris was translating to Noa what the doctor had said, but everything was muted. Everything was muffled and removed, like Michele was looking through a dream. He had to… things had to change, now. Emil couldn’t live this way anymore. If this happened again, he might not live through it. And if Emil didn’t live through it, Michele wasn’t sure he could, either. He looked at his hands and wished more than anything that he could be holding Emil right now.

 

“Shit…” His body felt as if he had been doused in cold water. He felt Chris and Noa’s eyes on him, but if they said anything, he couldn’t hear it, because fuck, fuck, fuck, he’d finally realised it:

 

“I’m in love, aren’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, I responded to a comment today saying that this chapter would be up in the next few days... and then seeing the comment in the first place inspired me to finish this chapter! Haha, just goes to show that comments really do motivate me. Some of this chapter was hard to write (getting from point A to point B) but I got there in the end. It wasn't originally going to end like that but Mickey finally realised it and I wasn't going to be the one to hold him back!
> 
> The next chapter will probably be up around this time next week. I mostly write during lectures but I'm giving two presentations in this week's lectures instead, so no time to write. I've got a few things scrawled out for the next chapter already though, so we'll see. Thank you all for your kudos and comments!


	12. Nothing But Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emil wakes up. And for now, at least, the danger has passed.
> 
> “She said, 'I'm so afraid.' And I said, 'why?,' and she said, 'Because I'm so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' I asked her why and she said, 'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Emil came to consciousness slowly. He was floating through time and space, he was nothing but he was everything, but there was someone holding his hands, but…

 

His eyes opened. Everything was blurring and lop-sided. It wasn’t all there. Was he still all there?

 

“Emil?” A voice came to him through the haze. His own voice responded with a low groan.

 

“Come on. Wake up. It’s me, Mickey.”

 

Emil’s head nodded and his gaze shifted to the right until he could see the source of the voice. Warm, concerned purple eyes emerged through his indistinct surroundings. Emil smiled.

 

“Mickey…”

 

Yes, it was Mickey’s hand holding his.

 

“How do you feel?”

 

How did he feel? He didn’t know. He didn’t feel a lot of anything.

 

“Numb.” He decided. Mickey was stroking his knuckles with a feather-light touch, as if he were afraid Emil might break.

 

“You’re on a lot of painkillers. Do… you remember what happened?”

 

Emil blinked slowly. He sucked in a sharp breath when it came back to him. He involuntarily pulled his hand away from Mickey’s.

 

“Alessandro.” He whispered. After a second he forced himself to take Mickey’s hand again. He held on tight. “How bad is it?”

 

Mickey looked like he didn’t want to answer. Instead he put a glass of water to Emil’s lips and made him drink. When he was done, Emil looked down at himself. His arms were both in casts. Under the covers, he could feel that there was something on his leg. His chest and back felt vaguely hot and itchy. There was a tube coming out of the right side of his chest.

 

“You had a compound fracture on your arm. That means the broken bone was sticking out of the skin. It needed surgery. Your other arm is fractured too.” Mickey began. He sounded like he was talking about someone else who wasn’t Emil. Maybe so he wouldn’t get upset. “Your knee was dislocated. Your chest and back were branded. They might get infected. A-And, um, your eye…?”

 

Emil brought his other arm up to his face but stopped halfway when Mickey shook his head quickly.

 

“Don’t move your arm, you’ll shift the pins. And don’t touch the bandage on your eye.” He insisted. Emil rolled his eyes. Err. His eye. Singular.

 

“Yes, mother. Look, don’t dance around it, okay? Tell me.”

 

“…You might have to have it removed. You’ll probably never see out of it again.” Mickey went back to rubbing Emil’s knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

 

Emil sighed and closed his eyes – um, eye. He flinched and opened it again when the images came back to him. Alessandro, with a knife, inches from his eye, pinning him down so he couldn’t escape the tip of the blade coming closer and closer, closer, closer-

 

“Hey, shh…” Mickey pressed a tissue onto Emil’s cheek. He hadn’t even realised he was crying. Emil flinched when Mickey touched his skin but he again forced himself not to move away.

 

Eventually, Emil’s tears stopped. He felt tired again. He didn’t want to sleep.

 

“So…” He broke the silence when something suddenly came to mind. “…Do I blink or wink now? Oh god, is everyone going to think I’m coming onto them? That’s going to be awkward.”

 

Mickey glared at him, but he couldn’t hide his relief that Emil wasn’t a quivering wreck.

 

“Take this seriously, idiot. You’re seriously hurt. You’re seriously hurt and it’s _my fault._ ” His voice broke at the last two words. Emil furrowed his eyebrows.

 

“No it isn’t. I knew what I was doing.”

 

“Noa told me. She told me all about what you were doing. You were waiting for me and I wasn’t showing up but you didn’t care because you’re so damn loyal!”

 

Emil recoiled slightly when Mickey raised his voice. Mickey took a deep breath and calmed down.

 

“I remembered. I found that picture, the one of us in Prague. I remembered how you tried so hard to be my friend. You even gave me your number. I even still have it.” Mickey’s cheeks darkened. Emil couldn’t help thinking it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “But it scared me. I felt guilty that I hadn’t… done something. I was angry that you didn’t tell me but I was angrier at myself. If I had become your friend maybe you wouldn’t have ended up… here. Doing this. So I avoided you because I didn’t know what to say. And because of that, this happened.”

 

Emil closed his eyes again and hummed.

 

“It’s understandable then. I’d be scared too if I found that out. And by the way, that was my mum’s number. Still is, probably. The point is, I forgive you. I know you feel bad, but the only one at fault is me. Or if you won’t accept that, blame Alessandro and Desislav.” He said. He didn’t open his eyes to see Mickey’s expression, but he smiled a little at the growl the Italian man let out.

 

“I don’t understand! Why won’t you get angry with me? I’m so angry at myself! I hurt you. You’ve… you’ll have so many scars, and injuries that won’t ever heal, and it’s my fault. An apology won’t mend a collapsed lung! I ignored you even though I said I wouldn’t do it again. Fucking… wish you’d at least hit me for it.”

 

At that, Emil did open his eye again. He gestured to their connected hands.

 

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My hands and arms are out of commission. Besides, the injuries aren’t that bad.” He grinned. “All I need is some ice cream and a hug, Mickey!”

 

Mickey was stunned into silence. He looked like he couldn’t decide if he should get angrier or give up.

 

“Yeah, and a new eye.” He eventually snapped sarcastically. Emil laughed.

 

“That would help.” He agreed. Right now he couldn’t process the whole might-lose-an-eye thing, so he thought it best to joke. “I could get a swanky eyepatch though. I’d make a sexy pirate~”

 

Mickey groaned and ran his free hand over his face. He suddenly stood up and went to the other side of the room, where he picked up a bag. As soon as he let go of Emil’s hand, however, Emil felt like he was drowning. He could see Mickey. He was _right there,_ but Emil suddenly felt so alone, so scared, like as soon as his Italian was gone, the monster would close in and there would be nothing anyone could do about it. Tears blurred his vision again and panic crawled up his chest from his guts, as if there was a demon squeezing his lungs.

 

“Emil? Hey, Emil, breathe, look – you hear me? My breathing?” There was a voice. Mickey. Yes, he could hear Mickey’s breathing now. “Follow my breathing. That’s it. In… and out… good job.”

 

When the panic had ebbed away he found himself looking into Mickey’s concerned face.

 

“Sorry.” This time Emil was the one apologising. Mickey scowled.

 

“Don’t you dare apologise.” He insisted. He was holding Emil’s hand again. He had set a box on the bed. “So, um, today… is the 8th. Noa said it’s your birthday today, right?”

 

Emil couldn’t stop the surprise showing on his face. Mickey blinked a few times, then his jaw dropped when he realised what Emil’s expression meant.

 

“You forgot your own birthday?” He whispered.

 

Emil looked down at the sheets. When Mickey had stopped showing up to the meeting point he had completely forgotten the date. June had turned into July without him even realising. The room was permeated with an awkward silence until Mickey spoke up again.

 

“It doesn’t matter if you forgot, because Noa remembered and she told me. I’ve been at the hospital this whole time so I couldn’t go out and get you anything. I had to get Sara to do it.” He pouted and his tone turned dramatic. “I can’t believe I ordered my sweet, perfect Sara to do something for me! I’m the worst brother ever!”

 

Emil laughed. He squeezed Mickey’s hand.

 

“I’m sure she doesn’t think that. Besides, she likes me. Right?”

 

“Stay away from my sister you pervert!” Mickey said. It was such an obviously automatic reaction that Emil laughed again. Mickey huffed. “Sorry. Yes. She thinks you’re funny, and that you’re good for me. For whatever reason. A-Anyway. Go ahead and open it.” He gestured to the small box. It was obviously a jewellery box, but the outside gave no clues.

 

Emil took his hand away from Mickey’s. It didn’t have the same reaction this time, because Mickey was leaning over, very close. There was no mistaking the fact that he was going nowhere. Emil took the box carefully in his bad arm and flipped it open with his worse arm. Inside was a necklace. It wasn’t anything elaborate. It was silver, with a pendant at the end. A flat disk, with a hand carved ‘E’ in the middle and small carvings around the edges. Tiny snowflakes, he realised. He smiled and brushed his finger over the pendent.

 

“It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

 

“It’s nothing special. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything in return. This isn’t that kind of… It’s your birthday, and it’s your 18th, so…” Mickey mumbled and blushed hard. “There’s… another present… if you want it?” 

 

Emil blinked. He felt like he was missing something in Mickey’s expression that he would have been able to catch easier if he weren’t on so many painkillers. Mickey looked frustrated with Emil’s inability to catch on.

 

“It’s a kiss. The other present. If you want it. You don’t have to, but I realised, when I brought you to the hospital, that…” The Italian took a deep breath. His face was getting redder by the minute. “Th-That I… can’t lose you. It would destroy me. I realised I… really, really like you. I’ve never been in love before, but… I think this might be it? This… feeling that’s been growing in me. You make me smile more than anyone else, even Sara. You make my heart skip beats just with your laugh. You’re so much more resilient than I am. Determined. Smart. Honest. I-I, um, think probably you deserve better than me? I’m angry and jump to conclusions, I’m a coward and-“

 

Emil decided to cut off Mickey then and there. He summoned what strength he had and leaned over their hands – when did they start holding hands again? – to steal the words from Mickey’s lips with a kiss. It was soft and warm, and Emil pulled back after a few seconds.

 

He’d hated it. He shouldn’t have. He hated himself for hating it.

 

For a second it had been perfect, and then he felt distinctly sick because fuck, Alessandro had kissed him just like that and any second he’d be pinned down and it would start to hurt again. He could feel the now familiar panic start to set in and instead he stared hard at Mickey. This was Mickey. It wasn’t Alessandro. Mickey seemed to notice that something was amiss because he started to talk to distract Emil.

 

“So… am I to believe my feelings are reciprocated?” He asked cautiously. And Emil had to laugh again because fuck, Mickey was so funny when he was trying to be fancy. The panic lifted.

 

“Yes, Mickey. You don’t have to ask like you’re some king who just started courting a princess.” Emil wished he had both hands. He wanted to touch Mickey’s face so badly. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time.”

 

“Really?” Mickey pouted, probably mad that he hadn’t noticed. “How long?”

 

“Since that day when you couldn’t meet because you had to see your parents off at the airport. I got really sad that I couldn’t see you. I missed you too much for my feelings to just be friendship.” Emil admitted. Mickey spluttered.

 

“That long ago? That was months back! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I didn’t think you could ever like me back. You’re you and I’m… me.”

 

“Shut up. You’re flawless. Like I said, you deserve better than someone like me. I treated you like shit.” Mickey grumbled.

 

“Everyone treats me like that.” Emil blinked. Or was he winking? Urgh, he didn’t want to get back into that. “Besides, I believed you when you said you wouldn’t do it again.”

 

“I won’t. And people shouldn’t treat you like that.” Mickey looked as if he was debating something in his head. “My parents are in the police. They work in the organised crime division. We were able to take you to a hospital because they got you into witness protection. But they are going to ask questions. Noa told me your family sold you. She seemed to think it had something to do with family debt and organised crime. If that’s the case then they can help you. You don’t have to risk this ever happening again.”

 

Emil was silent. He let Mickey’s words hang in the air like a washing line. He didn’t want to pluck the line down and talk because that would involve spilling a lot of secrets he had held close to him for a long time.

 

“…No, thanks. I don’t think they can help. It’s best if you lie to your parents. Seriously, this is… it’s too big. Too delicate. If I stay put, a lot of people get saved. As soon as I’m well enough, I’ve got to go back to the bar.” He said. Mickey looked ready to get angry, but he was interrupted by the door opening. Emil jumped and clung to Mickey’s hand. It was the doctor, followed by Chris, who smiled and waved and unnecessarily introduced himself.

 

The doctor began to go over Emil’s injuries. She detailed each major wound and what they had done to stop Emil from joining the ranks of the dead. It could have been worse, he told himself. Several fractured ribs had caused a collapsed lung and the chest tube would have to stay in for a few days. She tested Emil’s fingers and feet and declared that there was no nerve damage. The leg splint would have to stay in place for a while, and Emil wouldn’t walk normally for five or six weeks. This meant a wheelchair was needed for the foreseeable future, because with the casts, crutches would be impossible. The better arm would take a month or so to heal. The bad arm was anyone’s guess, but certainly longer.

 

Emil groaned after the doctor excused herself. How was he going to keep up with his clients like this? He hoped Alessandro had at least paid well enough that he wouldn’t have to work for a couple of weeks. It was the least that bastard could do. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep to the sounds of Mickey and Chris arguing. The words were fuzzy, and he had no idea what they were saying. Just as he dropped off, a few words struggled to reach him.

 

“…I will fix this. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll save him…”

 

 _____________

 

Mickey barely left Emil’s side over the next week. He left late at night to eat, shower and sleep, and he was back early every morning. To Emil it felt like Mickey never left. He was there when Emil opened his eye every morning and he didn’t leave until Emil was asleep.

 

Four days after Emil came into hospital, Noa visited. She apologised profusely for missing his birthday and brought him some pastries she and Dylan had made. When Emil had seen the pastries he had grinned wildly. A flash of nostalgia went through him from days long gone.

 

“They’re koláče. Dylan found them on google. They’re Czech, eh?”

 

They enjoyed the fruit-filled pastries together. Emil even convinced Mickey to have one, although the Italian man complained bitterly that unless Emil made them, they weren’t really Czech. Emil winked and promised he would make some. Mickey had gone bright red at that, but hadn’t protested.

 

“Aila’s worried about you too. And you know how she is, mate, she usually won’t show that sort of thing.”

 

“I’m flattered.” Emil rolled his eyes with a smile. “I can imagine she’s trying her best to hide it.”

 

“Oh, absolutely. She asks about you and then she goes on to insult you once she finds out you’re doing okay.” Noa chuckled, and Emil joined in. Then Noa’s face went serious, and he stopped.

 

“So, Desi came to talk to me yesterday.” She whispered. Mickey, who was sitting on the other side of Emil’s bed, leaned in to hear better. It seemed she had filled him in on the basics of who was who.

 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Emil asked. He couldn’t keep his voice from wavering. He relaxed when she shook her head.

 

“No. He only came to tell me to send you a message. When I told Desi how bad you were roughed up, he said that working as you are would be hard.” She frowned. Emil could tell that wasn’t what Desi had really said. It had probably been more like ‘he’s useless if he can’t work, nobody would want him like that.’ “So he’s giving you three weeks off, starting today. Ale… that man, he paid really well, so you don’t have to worry about money for a bit.”

 

Both Mickey and Emil let out a relieved breath. Three weeks was a lot longer than he had been expecting. He wondered if Desi’s sudden kindness was a bad omen, but dismissed this thought. Maybe the man had a heart after all.

 

“You should come back to my flat when you get discharged.” Mickey said suddenly. When Noa and Emil stared at him, he blushed. Emil grinned. Mickey got flustered so easily! What a cutie. “I-It’s just that, Noa, you’ll be working a lot. You said there’s no stairs where you two live, and Emil needs a wheelchair until he can walk again. My place has a lift, and someone will always be home. Whether that be me, Sara or Chris.”

 

Mickey cringed when he said that. It was no secret that whilst he was grateful to the Swiss man for everything he’d done to save Emil, Chris’ presence was starting to grate on him. For Emil’s part, he was getting along great with Chris. The two of them had similar senses of humour, and they loved to pretend to be into each other so that Mickey would get jealous. Then they could team up to tease the poor man.

 

“It makes sense…” Noa looked at Emil. “What do you think? I don’t mind. Dylan’s offered to put you up too, but I’m worried his brothers would bother you too much.”

 

Emil had never met Dylan’s brothers, but he had heard they were a handful. What he really needed was some peace and quiet and… Mickey.

 

“Sure, Mickey. I’d love to come home with you for a bit. It’ll be like you just adopted a cute puppy!” Emil laughed.  

 

“You… you’re cuter than any puppy.” Mickey muttered. He picked up Emil’s hand and pressed his lips to it, gazing into Emil’s eyes. Emil’s heart skipped a beat. Mickey was getting smoother by the day. It must be because he was Italian. But it was so much more than that, too. Mickey had been considerate enough to start learning and avoiding Emil’s triggers. He even had a list in a little book. He had started it after Emil had a full-blown panic attack induced by Mickey calling him beautiful. Alessandro had said that a lot, and hearing it again – in English, as a nurse was there at the time and they preferred if she didn’t know what was being said – with that velvety Italian accent had been too much. Gentle lip-to-lip kisses were out. Gentle hand kisses were in, instead.

 

Noa, for her part, looked like she wanted to faint in happiness. She was encouraging, but cautious, and she had forgiven Mickey once she found out Emil had.

 

_“No point in being angry at you when he isn’t, mate.”_ She had said.

 

Two days later Emil was discharged from the hospital in a wheelchair with strict instructions for rest and a stringent painkiller routine. His chest tube was finally gone. The brands on his back were infected, but under control for now. The bandage on his eye remained along with his casts and leg splint. The eye specialist told them the eye needed time to heal. Only then would they know if it could be saved. For Emil’s part, he didn’t much care anymore. He wouldn’t be able to see out of it, even if it was there. He might as well lose it and get a sweet ass eyepatch, right?

 

In the lift, on the way up to Mickey and Sara’s flat, Emil had to make something clear.

 

“This is only until I can walk, Mickey. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay any longer than that.” He whispered. Mickey had tried to bring up the subject of his parents helping him out a few times over the last week, but he had always ignored it. Mr and Mrs Crispino couldn’t help him. Nobody could. That was the way of things, and Mickey needed to accept it.

 

Mickey said nothing until they got into the flat. He wheeled Emil in and parked him next to the sofa. He crouched to look Emil in the eye.

 

“I’m not going to make you stay any longer than you want. You’re not a prisoner here.” He said lowly. Emil felt himself shiver. Then Mickey smiled and kissed his hand, and the tense atmosphere melted away like ice cream in a toaster. “I’ll get started on dinner. And maybe, tomorrow, you could come with me… to the rink?”

 

Mickey looked so hopeful. Emil grinned back.

 

“I’d love to!”

 

And, like a dream, his life became perfect – for those three weeks, nothing mattered but love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the updates! I was really excited and humbled by all the amazing comments I got on the last chapter. Seriously, you guys rock! I'm really tired right now (it's 3am as I'm uploading this) but then I saw the latest comment and couldn't help but finish this now instead of tomorrow. I had actually been working on a totally different fanfic all day. It's not one which is anywhere close to being uploaded yet, but if you like One Piece (specifically, Sanji) then it's something to look out for in the eventual future!  
> Some of this chapter was a bitch to write, too. Ha, can you tell where I was going to end it, but then continued it because I'm paranoid my chapters are getting too short?  
> Unlike a lot of the previous chapters, I don't have any of the next chapter written, so it might take a while. Plus, I'm going home next week to celebrate my birthday (which is on the 29th! I'm turning 22!) so I'll probably be busy especially with my stepmum's birthday being the day before mine. She's turning the big 75 so it's a big party, woo~  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	13. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A taste of an impossible life. 
> 
> “Not a word passes between us, not because we have nothing to say, but because we don't have to say anything.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

It took two days for Emil to convince Michele that they should sleep in the same bed. It took two more days for Emil to convince Michele that cuddling wouldn’t exaggerate any of his injuries. A day later Emil convinced Michele that he really would prefer if Michele kept his eyes open when helping him bathe. And that hadn’t been as fun as he thought.

 

_“Mickey, really! Open your eyes! You’re going to get water everywhere if you bathe me blind. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t got yourself.”_

That had been a lie. Emil had scars. Too many scars to count. The oldest seemed to be those across his shoulders. Little, round burn scars. Chris told him they were from cigarettes. He wished Chris had never told him. Every little scar made Michele want to turn back time and stop them from existing. He noticed, too, the way Emil hunched his shoulders slightly even when asleep. It was almost like Emil expected to be attacked at any moment, or as if the tall teen was trying to make himself smaller. As if he thinks he’s taking up too much space just by existing.

 

Michele learnt more about Emil in those three weeks than he had in the several months they had known each other. It was the little things – like his posture – that intrigued him most. Or, in some cases, made him fall for Emil all the more.

 

He loved the way Emil would get slightly shy when Michele said something nice.

 

_“Even if you do end up a pirate… you’re the cutest pirate I’ve ever seen.”_

_“M-Mickey! Haha, that’s embarrassing!”_

(Michele blocked out thoughts of exactly why Emil would react like that. As if he had never genuinely been told nice things.)

 

He loved the way Emil took his tea. He quickly found that Emil preferred coffee day-to-day, but tea when he was feeling sad or after a bad anxiety attack.

 

_“Five sugars, no milk, leave the teabag in.”_

_“…Five? And you want me to leave in the bag? Are you mad?”_

Emil had laughed and admitted that he hadn’t drank tea before coming to Italy. The way he took it could be blamed on Noa, who always made it that way. Michele imagined a young Emil in the bar sitting on a lonely windowsill in winter, gazing out at the rain. A bruise on his face and a warm mug of too-sweet-too-strong tea in his cold hands. Just a kid, out of his depth, comforted only by life’s simple delights.

 

He loved the way Emil stole hugs.

 

Even in a wheelchair Emil was surprisingly mobile. Emil moved with a combination of painkillers, crutches, a disregard for medical advice and sheer determination to touch Michele. He was stealthy, too. Even more so when he graduated from the wheelchair to using a crutch. Michele would be cooking, or doing laundry, or cleaning, and suddenly he would find two arms – stiff with the casts, creeping around his waist. At first it was alarming but it soon became… endearing. A pleasant surprise. After the first few times Michele started to lean back gently against Emil’s chest. He appreciated the newfound intimacy and warmth. He had never experienced anything like it. He was sensible, though, so of course he always chastised Emil for walking when he shouldn’t.

 

_“Haha! Don’t worry, Mickey! Even if my leg falls off, I’ll drag myself into your arms!”_

_“Th-That’s not the issue!”_

He loved the way Emil smiled at him in the mornings. That sweet, sleepy smile, when he opened his eyes and saw Michele’s face in front of him.

 

He loved the way Emil talked in his sleep, because Emil rotated between four or five different languages and mumbled things which made no sense even when Michele could understand the language. He didn’t love it when Emil had a nightmare because then he would talk only in Italian and only things which made sense.

 

_“No… stop… please, d-don’t…”_

 

Four days after Emil (temporarily) moved in with them, Emil convinced Michele that keeping him cooped up was unfair, especially after promising to take him to the rink. Besides, Emil reasoned, Michele couldn’t take this much time off. Not when the new season would be starting soon. Michele wanted to put Emil far above his career, but Emil was too nice to let him do that. So in the end they had piled into a disabled taxi and gone.

 

Emil parked himself right up next to the side of the rink. Michele had expected Emil to be distracting, to yell and encourage loudly, but Emil didn’t speak – he just watched. Eventually Michele forgot he was there. It was just him and his coach, working on his routines.

 

His Free skate had been easy to make. His love for Sara, his need and drive to protect her… yes, that worked perfectly with Serenade for Two. His Short programme on the other hand, was much harder to formulate. He had eventually suggested something chivalrous, and over the months something finally started to form _. L'homme Armé_ , from _Destiny of Knights_. He was to play a knight, and save Sara from the evil men who pursued her. But every time he practised it, something felt wrong.

 

He tried hard to get into the mindset of a knight. Sara. He needed to protect Sara, save her. But it… still didn’t feel right. He slowed to a stop mid-routine, at the edge of the rink.

 

“That was great, Mickey!”

 

Michele blinked over at Emil with surprise. As soon as their eyes met, he figured it out. He hadn’t written his Short programme for Sara at all. No, the reason it had evolved so organically was because it had evolved with his relationship with Emil. He was the knight, pushing himself hard to save Emil.

 

“Uh, Mickey? Why are you staring at me like that?”

 

Emil snapped Mickey out of it. He smiled gently at his Czech.

 

“You just helped me solve a big problem.” He leaned over and ruffled Emil’s hair in a rare show of public affection. Emil grinned. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging in delight.

 

Going to the rink every day became their settled routine. Michele caught up with the training he had missed out on when Emil had been in the hospital. He had already paid the hospital bill (money is just money – Emil shone brighter than any coin) and he was avoiding any and all calls from his parents. Emil was still refusing to accept their help, so Mickey couldn’t answer any of his parents’ questions.

 

A week after Emil came to stay, Chris finally went home. That flirty idiot had finally realised he was no longer needed (though he had been surprisingly helpful) so he left with a wink and a promise he would call. Michele glared and told him that if he dared to call Sara, Michele would hunt him down and castrate him.

 

Emil finally had the splint removed in the third week. The doctor confirmed that Emil could move around with a crutch as long as he did his physiotherapy. Emil took full advantage of this new mobility to follow Michele around like a lovesick puppy. Michele found that he didn’t mind. The cast on Emil’s better arm was also removed and replaced with a stiff support bandage. The eye, however, was still proving to be a problem. The ophthalmologist was still uncertain if Emil would get to keep the eye, but she was starting to lean towards ‘yes’, so it was some progress at least. Emil was almost disappointed. His pirate dreams could be over forever.

 

Some time during the second week, Emil had his first bad panic attack. What made it worse was that the rest of the time, Emil seemed mostly normal. His physical injuries were obvious but the injuries to his mind were buried deep and only surfaced in the dead of night or when particular sights and smells and sounds and touches tugged at the tattered ribbons in Emil's memory. Up until then they hadn’t been that bad, because Michele had always been there and had been able to help him through it. But on that particular day, Michele had been out to the nearest store for more milk. Sara and Emil had been alone. This meant Michele was on high alert – so when his phone rang, he picked up almost instantly.

 

“Mickey, it’s me,” Sara’s voice, scared, alarmed, “E-Emil’s having some kind of… panic attack? It’s really bad, Mickey he’s hurt and I can’t get to him!”

 

Michele hung up and dropped the milk he had been carrying to the checkout. He ran out of the store and back to the flat, arriving less than five minutes after Sara’s call. He found Sara standing in front of the door to Michele’s room, which was closed.

 

“He locked it. I…I don’t know what happened, one minute we were watching TV and then he just… froze up, and started yelling. He… thought I was someone else, Mickey. He tried to run to your room and he tripped.” She waved at a pile of glass shards, where a vase used to be. “I saw blood but he got into your room and locked it before I could see.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Mickey, what exactly is going on? Why won’t anyone tell me anything?”

 

Michele frowned at the door. Emil said a while back that he didn’t want Sara to know what his real job was, but it was getting to the point where she deserved to know who this new friend sharing their flat was, why he had gotten hurt, why he was so damaged. He took a deep breath.

 

“Look, I’ll tell you. Let me get him calmed down and I will ask if I can tell you.” He went up to the door. Behind him, Sara sighed.

 

“You really do love him. You would never keep something from me unless you really cared about him.” She stood up and went to the bathroom, presumably for the first aid kit. Michele knocked on the door.

 

“Emil? Emil, it’s me. It’s Mickey.” He said. He could hear Emil’s gasping breath. Whimpering. Mutterings, in Czech. He wasn’t listening. “Emil.” He tried speaking louder. “You’re safe here, Emil. Can I come in? I promise, it’s just me. I know…” His voice broke. “…I haven’t always kept my promises to you. But this time I will. Just me. I promise you, you are safe here.”

 

Michele went silent. After a moment he heard the click of the lock, then the footsteps retreated again. Sara passed him the first aid kit and then backed away into the kitchen.

 

“Can I come in, Emil?”

 

“A-Ano.”

 

Michele’s Czech was very limited, but he knew that at least. Having gained permission, he opened the door and entered. He closed it behind him.

 

Emil was sitting on the floor to the right of the bed, looking up at Michele without really seeing him. He was shaking and couldn’t catch his breath. One hand – on the good arm – clutched his chest whilst the other lay on the floor. A small shard of glass stuck out of the palm. Michele tried his kindest smile.

 

“Emil, hey.” He tried to step closer but Emil held out his free hand, the blood dripping down ominously. Michele got the picture and didn’t move. “Do you know where you are?”

 

Emil’s eyes – eye, still singular, the other still covered with a bandage – was wide and wild, darting around and then focusing on Michele before darting around again. He licked his quivering lips.

 

“Nerozumim… Nerozumim…!” He shook his head. Michele was at a loss. He tried English, but that didn’t help either. Emil kept repeating ‘nerozumim’. Michele concentrated hard on the Czech guidebook he had read once as a teen and the basic Czech he knew. He fell into it easier than he thought. It was like he was back in Prague, meeting Emil for the first time. Not that he had been the one to start that conversation.

 

“Dobrý den. Jak se jmenuješ?” He only prayed he didn’t butcher the pronunciation too much. By the tiny smile playing on Emil’s face, he assumed he had.

 

“Ahoj… J-Jmenuji se Emil.”

 

“Těší mě. Jmenuji se Michele. Uhh, Mickey. Neumím moc dobře mluvit česky. Mluvíte anglicky?” Michele really hoped this would work, because he didn’t know anything more than that – nice to meet you, my name is Mickey, I don’t speak Czech well, do you speak English. That was all he had ever needed to get by in Czechia. If it turned out the person didn’t speak English he’d move on to someone who could.

 

“Y-Yes.” Emil’s breathing was starting to slow and his eyes looked clearer, though they were still moving around, looking at things that weren’t there. Michele let out a breath of relief and switched to English.

 

“Great. You’re doing great, Emil. Can you look at me? Focus on me.”

 

Emil’s eyes finally narrowed in on Michele.

 

“Can I come a bit closer, Emil?”

 

A hesitant nod. Michele moved until he was about half a metre away.

 

“Thank you. Now, can you see my breathing, hear it? Can you breathe like me?”

 

Emil’s eyes moved to Michele’s chest and his breathing slowed further. It took a while and more encouragement, but eventually they were breathing in sync. Emil moved closer and finally rested his head against Michele’s shoulder with an exhausted breath.

 

“Fuck, that was awful.” Emil muttered. He’d gone back to their usual Italian. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry.” Michele was just relieved Emil was back to himself. “Remind me to brush up on my Czech soon.” He picked up Emil’s hand whilst the tall teen was too tired to react. He gently pulled out the glass – it wasn’t as big as he first thought, and it had missed the previous injury – and started to bandage. Emil conjured up a weak smile.

 

“It wasn’t half bad. You speak too formally though and you can’t pronounce for shit.”

 

Michele wondered why Emil tended to swear more when he was upset or tired. It was another little quirk he found endearing.

 

“I don’t like informal ‘hello’. You are the pirate, not me. Peg leg, eye patch, and ‘ahoy’? I may as well buy you a parrot right now.” Michele grumbled. He was rewarded with a stronger smile.

 

“People think it’s strange that a landlocked country stole a word being used only by sailors. But you know, we like canoeing, so…” Emil waved his other hand. “I used to love extreme sports. Whitewater rapids. All that stuff.”

 

“Really? I cannot imagine your coach was best pleased.”

 

“No. My coaches hated me for it. S’why I had a couple of different ones. I wanted to do too much too soon so they had to form a team… to control me.” Emil chuckled. Michele finished bandaging Emil’s hand and kissed the bandage, then kissed Emil’s cheek.

 

“Sara has questions.”

 

“I figured.” Emil sighed and smiled. He leaned over and kissed Michele briefly. For once, this caused no panic. “It’s okay. I’ll tell her.”

 

They stood together and went out of the door. Sara was in view. The kitchen door was open and they could see her sitting at the table. They sat down, and she stared at Emil in concern. Her earlier anger was forgotten.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Emil shrugged and tried to force a smile. It came out feeble, then died, like a fish taken out of water and allowed to suffocate. “Okay, no, not really. But I’ll feel better in a bit.”

 

Michele took that as his cue to stand and make Emil a cup of tea. He took out the earl grey tea bags and boiled the water, making sure he always stayed within Emil’s line of sight. He prepared Sara and himself cups of coffee.

 

“Is someone going to tell me what’s really happening, then?” Sara asked once everyone was seated again with their hot drinks. Emil stirred his tea idly, watching the teabag swirl around the mug. A little vortex, pulling the bag to the bottom. The kitchen was silent for a moment, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock.

 

“I’m a sex worker.” Emil said suddenly. Michele cringed. Emil clearly hadn’t known when to start, so he’d gotten the hard part over with. To Sara’s credit, she didn’t drop her coffee. She did look surprised. Then she looked at Michele, who held up his hands.

 

“It’s not like that. We met when I was on my way home one night. We just talked. Then we kept meeting up and just… walking, and talking, and it just…” He shrugged. Emil nodded.

 

“It just happened. Not that I could resist Mickey. He’s so cute, just like when we were kids.” He chuckled. Some of the old spark was returning with each sip of bittersweet tea. Michele rolled his eyes fondly.

 

“So you’ve never…?” Sara leaned forwards over the table.

 

“No, I’ve never been paid for sex by Mickey." Or had sex with him at all, but that part wasn't said. "I wouldn’t accept his money anyway. It’s not like that between us.” Emil confirmed.

 

Michele was surprised Emil knew that. A part of him always wondered if Emil was seeing their relationship the wrong way, if Emil thought he owed Michele anything. Maybe he did think that way, but at least not openly. Some day he would have the courage to ask. Emil carried on speaking.

 

“Mickey has already been told this, so you might as well know too. I’m not in this job by choice. I was forced into it. But a lot of people get hurt if I don’t stay where I am. So nothing is going to change.” He looked at Michele when he said this. “Nothing _can_ change. It’s impossible. Like Portugal winning Eurovision. It’ll never happen.”

 

Michele met Emil’s gaze and refused to look away.

 

“It could. You just have to find the right song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start with a few explanations and translations!
> 
> Tea - Uhh, I hate to admit it sometimes, but this is how I used to take my tea. Now I make it with one sugar and like 10 little sweetener tablets. It tastes the same, just less calories. Almost all of my OCs take their tea the same way as me, so I figured it would be fun to shoehorn it into the fic. And I dunno, the idea just grew and now it fits. Emil's sweet, but there's a hidden bitterness. Familiar tastes make you feel comforted, and Noa's a source of comfort.  
> Languages - It's been said before I think, but I just want to clarify that my headcanon for Emil is that he's really good with languages and picks them up really easily!   
> L'homme Armé - I had completely forgotten until recently that one of Mickey's skates is literally about being a knight and saving someone! When I remembered (thanks YOI wikia lmao) I knew I had to make it about Emil.  
> Ophthalmologist - Eye doctor.   
> Czech (if anything's wrong, blame the internet!):  
> Ano - Yes  
> Nerozumim - I don't understand   
> Dobrý den - Hello (formal)  
> Jak se jmenuješ? - What is your name?  
> Ahoj - Hello (informal)  
> Jmenuji se... - My name is...  
> The rest is translated in-fic :) I found it interesting that ahoj (pronounced ahoy) isn't a Czech word. It was stolen from sailors and became popular in the 1920s and 1930s. This partly happened though canoeing. Canoeing clubs became like micro cultures in their own, with a romantic opposition to the nationalistic middle class. So 'ahoj' became a sort of secret greeting. Of course, then all the young'uns started using it and today it's pretty much the standardised way of saying hi, or so I've read. So, uh, I mentioned this in the fic. Too interesting not to!  
> Like Portugal winning Eurovision - I'm setting this fanfic sometime between 2014 and 2016 though I'm not sure which of those years exactly. I'm using a YOI calendar I found on tumblr. Point is, this fic is set before 2017. Portugal are famous in Eurovision for sending god awful songs. Sorry, Portugal, but in your 50 odd years of participation, you've never sent a good song. Except in, uh, 2017. Guess who won Eurovision this year, folks? ;)
> 
> Phew, that was a lot of explaining, but I thought it was necessary. Thank you all again for your lovely comments. They really do make my day! As soon as I get an email that I've got a comment, I rush over to read it (though I don't always have time to reply til much later). This chapter got up sooner than I thought it would. The next chapter won't be up til at least tuesday or wednesday. Like I said before it's my birthday on sunday and then I'm travelling all day monday, lectures all day tuesday. I've already got some written though, so who knows, eh? I also finally planned out the story and how many chapters etc. Do youse want to know how many chapters I'm planning, or would you rather that was kept secret? Anyway, til next time, you lovely lot!


	14. No Longer Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being shown the love he deserves, Emil struggles to return to his old life.
> 
> “it always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

The first of August arrived far too quickly for Emil’s liking. The last three weeks had been some of the best of his life. Despite the physical pain of healing, and the nightmares he suffered, he was happy. When he was with Mickey, all his problems melted away, fazed into the background like he had pressed mute on the darkness. 

 

But that kind of thing could never last for someone like Emil. No, Emil’s life was long over in many ways. The three week holiday wasn’t a glimpse into a possible future, where he could live in eternal happiness with Mickey. No, it was a glimpse into a life which was unobtainable. Something out of reach. He was Icarus and Mickey was his sun. If he flew too close, got too comfortable, he knew – the wax wings would melt and he would drown.

 

August 1st. The agreed end to his holiday. For the first time, Emil woke up first. He watched Mickey’s face in the sunrise. He watched the soft orange hues set Mickey’s bronze skin aglow, watched the dawn’s rays kiss the long, dark eyelashes of the man he loved. God, in that moment, Emil wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was. He wanted this image to stay with him forever. He wanted to see it every morning, feel this warmth at the start of every lazy summer’s day and at the dawn of every dark winter’s sunrise.

 

Emil had never in all his life wanted anything more. But Emil had never been a selfish person. And that’s what it would be, selfish. For all his father hated him, Emil couldn’t sacrifice his family for his own happiness. There wasn’t a disloyal bone in Emil’s body. So he put a hand on Mickey’s warm shoulder and shook him awake.

 

“Mm? Go ‘way…” Mickey tried to roll over, but Emil chuckled and stopped him.

 

“Come on, Mickey. I have to go after breakfast and I want to spend some time with you actually awake.”

 

That did the trick. Mickey opened his eyes and looked at Emil, but Emil looked away. He knew Mickey would be sad. He couldn’t stand to see that. He forced a smile and got out of bed. His limp was getting less pronounced every day.

 

“I could make breakfast, but you probably don’t want a burnt kitchen.” He stretched his arms upwards and winced at the pain in his arms, back and chest. The bandages had been removed and now Alessandro’s name was stark against his skin for all to see. He decided to keep his shirt on around Mickey for this reason alone.

 

“Too right I don’t.” Mickey muttered. He went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later. “I left your meds on the sink. Make sure you take them.”

 

“Yes, mother.” Emil winked. He kissed Mickey on the cheek and went to the bathroom. After using the toilet and brushing his teeth, he stared at his medication. He wouldn’t be able to take them for much longer. The thought depressed him. The medication made everything wonderfully numb.

 

He emerged into the kitchen a few minutes later and smiled brightly at the Crispino twins. Sara was already dressed and eating a pastry. She waved at him.

 

“Good morning. Going somewhere?” He asked her as he sat down at the table. Mickey shot them a glare but at this point it was hard to tell which of them he was being protective over.

 

“My coach has called me in early. There’s a copyright issue with one of the songs I’m using.” She replied. Emil suspected she wasn’t telling the truth. She was trying to get out of the flat to let them be alone for the hour or so they had left together.

 

Mickey handed Emil a plate with a fresh baked pastry. He huffed.

 

“She shouldn’t call you in so early. If it was just a bit later you wouldn’t have to go alone.” He said. Emil snickered.

 

“Relax.” He waved a hand, spreading pastry flakes on the table. Mickey glared. “Sara will be fine without you for a couple of hours.”

 

“See? I’m a big girl, Mickey. Don’t worry.” Sara smiled gratefully at Emil. She had told him privately a few days before that she wanted her and Mickey to start going their separate ways and standing on their own two feet. She was starting by going out more often without him.

 

“Fine, but I’ll be there soon.” Mickey conceded. Sara stood and put her plate in the sink. She kissed Mickey and Emil on the cheek and left the flat.

 

Mickey and Emil were left at the table alone. For a moment neither of them knew what to say. Thankfully Mickey had given up (for now) on convincing Emil to get help from the Crispino parents.

 

After a minute or so they fell back into easy conversation. They talked mostly about skating; which competitions Mickey had coming up. The skating season would be in full swing soon. Emil promised to watch every event. Mickey insisted that Emil take at least three bottles of suncream with him when he left. Emil’s pale skin meant that he had been sunburnt a couple of times already.

 

Then Mickey took Emil’s hand.

 

“We should shower.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. Emil blinked at him. He wasn’t a stranger to such suggestive expressions, but he hadn’t expected it, not after the last time their makeout session started to get somewhere. Emil’s hands had trailed down to Mickey’s jeans.

 

_“Emil, wait, wait.”_

_Emil pulled back immediately. They were lying on the sofa together, squashed together side-by-side. When he pulled back, Emil almost fell off. Mickey caught him before he could._

_“What’s wrong? Was it not… good?” Emil frowned. He had trouble getting out of his usual headspace. He wanted to be here. He wanted to make Mickey feel good. But he had never had a healthy sexual encounter, where both parties were truly equal. So he was still in the mindset of needing to please._

_“N-No, it was good. It was great.” Mickey smiled, then, and it made Emil immediately relax. “It’s just, I…”_

_Mickey’s ears went red, a sure sign he was embarrassed. The smile dropped._

_“I’m… uh, well, I’ve never…”_

_“You’re a virgin?” Emil guessed. Mickey nodded. He hunched his shoulders in and looked away, clearly expecting to be laughed at. It made Emil feel miserable to think of how much he must have been teased in the past to have this reaction. So instead he smiled and held Mickey’s cheek, turning his face to look into those beautiful purple eyes._

_“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not going to pressure you. I can wait until you’re ready.” He then leaned in and they kissed, slowly, until it got too much for Emil’s mind and they pulled away to watch the rest of The Lion King._

The day after that, they’d had a discussion about their relationship. Mickey didn’t expect anything from Emil except love. Emil was mildly surprised, but he never for a second doubted that it was the truth. Mickey was also okay with Emil continuing to work, because until Emil accepted help, he didn’t have a choice.

 

Emil followed Mickey to the bathroom. He stripped his shirt off as he spoke.

 

“Are you sure?” He looked down at Mickey. A warm thrum of pure adoration went through him when he saw Mickey take off his shirt. The muscles there rippled with motion as he wrapped Emil’s remaining cast in cling film.

 

“Yes. I’m ready for a bit more. And remember, you can say no.”

 

“I know. You drilled that into me a lot already, Mickey.” Emil chuckled and went for his pyjama bottoms. He pulled them down, unashamed. Mickey had already seen him naked plenty of times when he helped Emil bathe. Mickey was shyer about it, but Emil was nice enough not to look. He turned on the shower, and they both stepped under the warm waterfall. Emil’s arms wrapped around Mickey’s waist from behind. For now, all was well with the world.

 

“I love you.” Emil muttered softly. He kissed down Mickey’s neck and then started to suck and bite a hickey into the tanned shoulder. Mickey rewarded him with a muffled moan.

 

“I love you too. But don’t think that you’re going to be doing all the work here.” Mickey turned around and silenced Emil’s reply with a hard kiss. Their lips worked in sync, pushing and nibbling. Their tongues met and danced with each other, a fierce tango that had them both moaning for more. One of Emil’s hands, the arm in the cast, rested on Mickey’s cheek whilst the other started to wander downwards. He rubbed a thumb across a dark nipple and Mickey’s responding shiver sent blood southwards to Emil’s cock. His hand wandered further south, pausing on Mickey’s abdomen. Mickey promptly distracted him by tangling a hand in his hair and tugging backwards, exposing Emil’s pale neck to Mickey’s meandering tongue.

 

“M-Mickey, ah…!”

 

Mickey was fierce, rough, and nothing like Alessandro’s gentle nips and caresses. His free hand also wandered south, pausing to curiously pinch a nipple before moving down. Not to be beaten to the finish line, Emil ran his fingers down Mickey’s quickly hardening dick. Before Mickey could even finish gasping, he grasped it and started to slowly stroke. Mickey’s moans grew louder. They vibrated against Emil’s throat.

 

“Wh… What do you want, Mickey~?” It didn’t come out as put-together as he wanted, because fuck, Mickey’s hand was still in his hair, pulling, sending shocks of pleasure downwards where the other hand ghosted over Emil’s dick.

 

“Whatever… mmf…! You’ll… give me.” Mickey replied, before he bit Emil’s neck and sucked and lapped over the mark he made. Emil moaned and rolled his hips forward into Mickey’s hand. He tilted his head back down to capture Mickey’s lips again. They both started to stroke, at first slowly and sensually and then quicker. The hand on Mickey’s cheek moved to his nipples to pinch and rub and tease.

 

The hands on their dicks, tanned skin against pale, pale against tanned, moved faster and more urgently with every minute. They had become one being, one mind, thinking of nothing but the mounting pleasure, hearing nothing but their combined moans, seeing nothing but each other and their eyelids when their eyes were squeezed closed at every crux and wave of desire. The water flowing over their bodies helped to fuel their fire.

 

Eventually the strokes became frantic and hurried. The finish line, the peak was in sight. They could feel it growing up inside them, winding tight. Emil panted against Mickey’s lips.

 

“I’m… so… close…”

 

He had never seen Mickey lose composure like this. He looked utterly wild. Beautiful.

 

“Me… too…!” Mickey pushed their foreheads together and then their tongues met again. The feeling built and built until finally, together, they reached their climax with each other’s names torn from their throats in desperate, breathless moans. The proof of their lovemaking was washed away quickly by the water.

 

They took several moments to catch their breath. Finally, they pulled their hands away and wrapped them instead around each other. Their foreheads stayed together. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Mickey sighed.

 

“Why can’t we stay here? Just like this? Forever?”

 

Emil smiled.

 

“I wish we could. In another life, maybe we do.”

 

Practically, they couldn’t, either. Their fingers were wrinkling from the water and Emil couldn’t stay standing for this long without his knee hurting. So, full of contentedness and regret, they exited the shower to dress. Emil packed his things into a bag and looked around the bedroom one last time.

 

“I’m not going to try to convince you to stay, because I know you won’t.” Mickey took Emil’s hand and glared at the floor. “But I wish you would. You could if you wanted to. That’s all.”

 

“I know.” Emil kissed Mickey’s forehead and moved to the door. They got into the lift, still holding hands. Once they got out onto the street, they dropped their hands. Italy wasn’t a safe place for people like them, even without Emil’s job or Mickey’s fame. The sun beat down on them brutally. They were both quiet.

 

Emil felt bad for going back. That had always been the plan. He had made it perfectly clear, but he still felt sadness coming off Mickey in waves. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and kept Mickey on his blind side. If Mickey couldn’t see his face, he couldn’t see that Emil was just as sad to be leaving. But what if Mickey wasn’t just sad? What if he was angry? What if he decided that he couldn’t be in a relationship with a hopeless dead end like Emil?

 

When they reached the bar, Emil stood in front of the door and faced Mickey. When he did, his anxieties faded away. Mickey didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look all that sad. No, it was an expression of pure determination and drive.

 

“Well. You’re going home now.” Mickey said casually as he nodded to the bar. Emil smiled and shook his head.

 

“I’m not going home. Not really.” He glanced behind him to the bar. This wasn’t home. Home was wherever Mickey was. Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

“…Did you just quote Harry Potter at me?”

 

“Aw, Mickey, that could have been a cute moment. You could’a pretended it wasn’t a quote and rolled with it.”

 

They both snorted and started to laugh. Emil pulled Mickey into a tight hug.

 

“I mean it though. This isn’t goodbye.” Emil said. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

 

Mickey’s ears went pink. So cute.

 

“I love you too.”

 

Eventually they couldn’t hold off the parting moment any further. Mickey went back down the street and Emil went inside. He went to the desk, where Feliciano looked up at him in surprise.

 

“Huh. I thought you were dead.”

 

“Not yet, friend.” Emil ran a hand through his hair. Mickey’s words came back to him. Next time he might not be so lucky. He might die.

 

“Put me back on the rota, yeah? From tonight onwards.” He waved and went upstairs. The stairs creaked underfoot. Noa was sitting on his bed when he walked in. She looked up at him.

 

“So you came back after all.” She sounded disappointed. Emil put his bag down to the right of the bed, where the bloodstain from last month hadn’t quite been washed away effectively. The carpet there would likely be stained forever.

 

“No choice, remember?” Emil sat next to her. Being back in this room again was putting him on edge. He felt panic start to creep into his gut. He didn’t know how he would be able to sleep here.

 

“You do have a choice!” She balled her hands in the red dress she was wearing. “I don’t know how, yet, exactly, but I know that if you took the chance, you could be free!”

 

When Emil didn’t reply, even after several long moments of silence, she smiled and changed the subject.

 

“I can tell it’s hard for you to be in here. Why don’t we swap rooms?” She suggested. Emil frowned.

 

“Wow, are you sure? Your room is bigger than mine, you know.”

 

“I’m sure. You can’t work in this room. Or sleep. It’s big enough for me.”

 

They spent that afternoon moving Noa’s things into Emil’s room, helped by Aila and Wolfram. She had more stuff than he did. It took all of five minutes to move his things to her room. She’d been there longer, she had gifts from Dylan, and she had things she used to look after the others. First aid kits and alcohol.

 

Eventually the move was done. As they lounged in Emil’s new room, drinking wine to their hard work, Desislav appeared in the open doorway. They all looked at him, but he was focused on Emil.

 

“You have Filippo this evening.” He said. He stood in the doorway for a few moments then left without another word.

 

“Do you think he feels bad?” Emil wondered.

 

“Naw. That man’s got naw heart. Bet he was thinkin’ which of yer clients won’t want tae visit ye when yer like this.” Aila snorted at Emil’s naivety.

 

“You’re probably right.” Emil agreed. He stood from the bed and put his empty wine glass down on the bedside table. “I’m going to get ready. See you guys later.”

 

That evening, he met Filippo in the bar. They didn’t say anything, but once they got into his car Filippo turned to him.

 

“What happened?” It wasn’t his Daddy Voice, so Emil took the cue and responded normally.

 

“Rough client. I’m fine now.” He gestured to cast still on his arm. “Except for this.”

 

“And your eye.” Filippo added as he turned onto his street. “Don’t worry, baby boy. I’ll kiss it better.”

 

…Emil was struggling.

 

Filippo was nice about it, but Emil was struggling badly to get back into the right mindset. He could slip back into his little personality easy enough, but when it came to the sex he found himself holding back panic. Filippo was gentle, and that was the issue. He feared that every soft touch would be followed by pain. So he let his mind wander to Mickey. He imagined Mickey’s voice calming him down in butchered Czech. He imagined Mickey tugging his hair and kissing each of his fingers. But the more he thought of Mickey the harder it was to concentrate on Filippo.

 

But it wasn’t just Filippo. Over the next month, he realised that it had become difficult to get back into the swing of things. And it wasn’t just the gentle clients. Those who were usually rough didn’t set him on edge like the others, but he found it hard to pretend to enjoy it. Eventually he figured it out.

 

Mickey had subconsciously convinced him that he deserved better. Every time someone handled him in a way he didn’t like, he found himself thinking about what Mickey would say or do. And every other day, when he did see Mickey, those ideas would be solidified. The sheer amount of love that Mickey showed him made it hard to put up with the pain like he had for the last few years.

 

Still, he didn’t want things to change. He knew they couldn’t, logically. A part of him thought himself invincible. Sure, he got hurt, but he always survived. Yes, he could get killed, but because it hadn’t happened… a part of him believed it couldn’t. This life – going between being loved and being objectified – was enough for him.

 

And so August went by in a hazy blur of uncomfortable encounters and restless nights, hot and sticky and uncertain, like the world was holding its breath for something. Emil’s other cast was finally removed, but he didn’t feel any better for it. His limbs still felt stiff, robotic. Like he was only half human, stuck between Mickey and work.

 

The third of September, unbeknown to him, would change the course of his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! In the next chapter, things are going to start heating up. Plans are being set in motion. Well, you didn't think Mickey was going to sit on his arse for a month, did you? Like before I honestly have no idea when the next chapter will be. On the one hand, I have a good 50% of it written. On the other hand, all of my uni assignments are due soon. They're all due around the 21st of November. I should be able to take breaks to work on this, though, so I don't expect it'll take more than a week for the next chapter to come along. Also, my hand slipped and I started working on a Soulmate AU. It'll probably be a oneshot though, so expect that some time around December maybe?  
> Thanks again for the lovely comments and kudos! Love you guys!


	15. Ghosts Of The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michele gets a visit from a ghost of Emil's past. When Emil meets this long lost figure, can he accept the hope she brings?
> 
> “It's wrong what they say about the past, I've learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Desperate. That was definitely the word for how Michele felt. Desperate. After a month, he hadn’t come up with anything despite brainstorming every day. He had talked to his parents – they couldn’t help if they didn’t know everything, but Michele didn’t know everything either. Chris couldn’t help because Emil didn’t want to be helped. In one, final, desperate attempt to find anything of use, Michele had gone through his old skating things from when he knew Emil before. That’s when he found it. The scrap of paper.

 

_“I remembered. I found that picture, the one of us in Prague. I remembered how you tried so hard to be my friend. You even gave me your number. I even still have it. But it scared me. I felt guilty that I hadn’t… done something. I was angry that you didn’t tell me but I was angrier at myself. If I had become your friend maybe you wouldn’t have ended up… here. Doing this. So I avoided you because I didn’t know what to say. And because of that, this happened.”_

_Emil closed his eyes again and hummed._

_“It’s understandable then. I’d be scared too if I found that out. And by the way, that was my mum’s number. Still is, probably.”_

Of course! How could he be so stupid? He should have remembered at the time to root through his things for that number, especially after Emil said it was his mum’s number. He could call, tell her what was happening, and she’d be able to work something out.

 

It took Michele three days to work up the courage to call. Twice, both on day one, he picked up his phone and tapped in the number. His finger hovered over the green call button for ten minutes before he chickened out, even though it was such a longshot. He had no plan. Day two he didn’t leave the flat and didn’t look at his phone. He sat on the sofa and felt sorry for himself until Sara hit him in the back of the head and told him that this wasn’t about him and he’d better grow some balls and call Mrs Nekola tomorrow or so help her she’d move out before he could say ‘cappuccino’. So on day three he tapped the number into his phone and pressed the green circle before hesitation could still his hand. He sat on the sofa and tapped his knee nervously.

 

He pulled the phone up to his head. It felt cold against the shell of his ear.

 

It rang.

 

And rang.

 

And rang.

 

…

 

…

 

“Dobrý den.”

 

The foreign words surprised him. He almost slapped himself. Of course Emil’s mum would be speaking Czech! Michele quickly rooted around in his head for the right words but he couldn’t have a full conversation, like what he wanted to talk about, in Czech. He decided to try English and pray.

 

“Um, hello.”

 

“Hello? Who is this?” Mrs Nekola switched to English without a single pause and suddenly he knew where Emil got his language skills from. He decided to try his luck.

 

“Do you speak Italian?” He asked, in English.

 

“Yes. Again, who is this? How did you get this number?” She switched to Italian and the switch was so easy it was as if they hadn’t been speaking two other languages already.

 

“Your son gave it to me many years ago. I wasn’t expecting it to still work.”

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear. I’ve got a lot of sons.” There was a smile in her voice.

 

“Oh.” Michele had no idea Emil had siblings. “I’m talking about Emil.”

 

The other end of the phone line was silent.

 

“Emil is no longer with us. I’m sorry, but you can’t contact him through me.” Mrs Nekola eventually said. She was being vague enough that anyone else would question if Emil were alive or not.

 

“I-I know. It’s you I want to talk to. About him.”

 

There was another silence. He heard her take a deep breath.

 

“You’re Italian?” She confirmed. That was a rhetorical question. “Do you… know him?” That wasn’t.

 

She sounded so desperate and so ready to be let down that Michele felt extraordinarily happy to be able to subvert her fears.

 

“Yes, I know him. He lives in Turin. I knew him… before, as well. I’m a skater.” Michele hadn’t intended to tell her that last part, but it was out now. “I re-met him earlier this year. Eventually I remembered who he really is. And I remembered I had this number. I want to know what’s going on. I want to help him.”

 

“…How much do you know already?”

 

Michele went quiet to consider how much he wanted to say. He gripped the phone tighter.

 

“Don’t you dare sugarcoat it.” She added. Michele swallowed. Just like Mrs Crispino, Mrs Nekola seemed to be impossible to lie to.

 

“He’s a… sex worker. Not by choice. He gave up his skating dream out of some kind of obligation to come here. It might be something to do with families owing each other. He’s abused a lot here. Sometimes he gets hurt badly, inside and out. He wants to give up. I won’t let him.”

 

There was another long silence between them. Eventually, Mrs Nekola let out a sigh.

 

“Yes, that sounds about right.”

 

“You knew?” Michele sounded surprised, and then a well of anger rose up inside him. He stood up and kicked the sofa. “What the fuck have you been doing for the last four fucking years then? Why haven’t you helped him?”

 

He could feel hope slipping through his fingers. If Mrs Nekola already knew what had happened to Emil and hadn’t helped him already, she probably never would. He was back to square one. He sat down on the sofa, feeling defeated and irritated. What a shitty mother.

 

“You think I haven’t tried, boy?” Mrs Nekola stayed calm. It was eerie, considering what they were discussing. “You don’t know anything about the situation, so get off your high horse.”

 

Michele grit his teeth. He stood up again and started pacing.

 

“So why don’t you tell me?”

 

“I don’t know anything about you. You could be anyone.” There was a sound of shifting papers in the background. He knew she had a point. He could be from whichever family the Nekolas had a feud with. “I’m going to send someone to meet you. Does tomorrow work?”

 

“Tomorrow?” This woman worked fast. “Uh. Yeah, yes, I’m free.”

 

“She’ll meet you at the Abramo café at 11am. What’s your name, boy?”

 

He considered lying, but brushed that thought away. She would see straight through something like that. He fully believed she was who she said she was, and to gain her trust he needed to be honest. Even with his fame putting him in danger.

 

“Michele. Michele Crispino.” He said. He could hear the smile in her next words.

 

“Oh, I see. No wonder Emil has singled you out. He had the biggest crush on you when he was a boy.”

 

He went red and stopped pacing. His free hand went to his lips, his fingers brushing over them. The ghost of Emil’s touch lingered, tingling on his nerves.

 

“Mrs Nekola, I think he still does.”

 

__________

 

Michele wished Emil’s mother had told him more about who he was meeting. All he knew was that they were female. Old, young, Italian, Czech… hell, she could be Japanese for all he knew. He had no idea how he was supposed to recognise her. He assumed she would recognise him, but not knowing who he would see when he walked through the café doors made him anxious. So for a long time, he stood in front of the café, debating if he should just ring up Mrs Nekola and call everything off. He didn’t seriously consider this option, though. This was his only lead in helping Emil right now, so he had to take it. He pushed open the café doors and looked around. It was a quiet little place. Rustic, very wooden, with air conditioning to beat away the Italian sun. When he entered, nobody looked up. Right – the kind of place where you didn’t ask, and you didn’t tell.

 

He knew who he would be talking with as soon as he saw her. She was sitting at a table by the window, looking out at the tourists squirming under the hot sun. The subtle downturn of her lips suggested she wasn’t used to the heat, herself. Her pale skin suggested she was from a colder country than Italy, but he already knew she was. He knew because she looked just like Emil. The hair was the same soft light brown, cascading past her shoulders in waves. She was tall. He could tell even though she was sitting down, from the way her long legs stretched out under the table. She was wearing short shorts, to show them off. When she turned to look at him, it was almost Emil’s face. A softer jawline, a slightly wider chin and a few more wrinkles were all that set them apart. Her eyes were just as blue, but they were… colder. She was a lot older than Emil, too, around 35, and she didn’t smile like he did. Her smile was polite. It left distance, whilst Emil’s smile drew him in.

 

“Michele.” She nodded when he sat across from her with his coffee. Her accent was the same as Emil’s. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Soňa Nekola.”

 

He shook her hand. From her age, Michele assumed she was… what? She was too old to be a sibling, but too young (probably?) to be Emil’s mum (besides, he’d spoken to Emil’s mum on the phone and this definitely wasn’t her). An aunt, maybe? A cousin?

 

“I can see you trying to figure it out.” Soňa smiled, and this time it was a little closer to Emil’s sunshine smile and a little less like the plain, polite offering from before. “I’m one of his sisters. Don’t feel bad, I’m actually older than I look.”

 

Older? Michele picked up his coffee and sipped it to hide his surprise.

 

“There’s a big age gap, then?” He asked. Emil hadn’t mentioned any siblings, but Mrs Nekola had. Sisters, Soňa had said, so more than one? And Mrs Nekola said she had a lot of sons, too, so…

 

“Yes. Nine years between him and the next youngest. Twenty-five years between him and me.” She was smirking, now, at his expression. Michele’s jaw had dropped before he could stop it.

 

“So… how many of you are there?” At least two sisters, at least two brothers, so there must be as least five Nekola kids in total.

 

“Seven. I’m the oldest. Emil is the youngest. He came along nine years after the next youngest. Mum was almost fifty when Emil was born. He was a happy accident.”

 

Suddenly, a lot of things about Emil made sense. His personality was very… ‘little brother’-ish. He looked up to people easily and was easily led. Emil wasn’t used to being the centre of attention – having so many older siblings likely meant Emil had been left behind. He got on better with older people. He thought he was a burden. Michele thought about the words ‘happy accident’ and wondered if everyone in the family had been so happy to have a young child running around when everyone else had already grown up.

 

“He hasn’t mentioned.” Michele eventually responded. He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth, but he thought Emil would be the type to be close to his family.

 

“That’s no surprise. It probably hurts to talk about us.” She sipped her coffee, apparently unbothered by this. “Let me see your phone.” She demanded suddenly. Michele scowled.

 

“Why?” He couldn’t help sounding suspicious of her. For all he knew, she’d been the one to make Emil leave. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Just give it.”

 

He glared and handed her his phone. It was locked, but she somehow got in without trouble. Who the hell were these Nekolas? Emil had been just the same with his laptop password. From the other side of the table, he could see her going through his pictures. She scrolled back to the first picture of Emil and Mickey. Emil had insisted on taking a selfie together. It was taken not long before the Hot Springs on Ice event. She laughed.

 

“Oh, lord. He’s grown up so much! He grew a beard! It makes him look so much older. He’s always had a babyface. He looks a lot like Alexandr now.” Her eyes softened and it made her look even more like Emil. He felt bad for being suspicious. All she’d wanted was to see how her baby brother was looking. As a fellow protective brother, Michele felt his heart go out to her. She flicked forwards through the pictures. Once he and Emil began to meet in the park, there were more pictures.

 

“How tall has he ended up? He looks taller than you in these pictures.” She had paused on a picture where the two of them were standing. It was a rare picture, because Michele was smiling as much as Emil.

 

“Six foot.” He replied. “I thought he was older when I first met him.”

 

“He looks it.” She agreed. Finally, she landed on the most recent picture. It was taken at the rink, at some point over those three weeks in July. Her hand shook subtly.

 

“What… happened to him?”

 

Most of the injuries weren’t obvious in the picture, but Emil looked tired. The smile looked slightly forced.

 

“…He was badly hurt by a client. I took him to the hospital.” He leaned back so that he wouldn’t have to see the picture anymore. She leaned forward, following him. It was obvious she wanted to know more, so he rattled off Emil’s injuries. His ankles. His knee. His arms. The burns. The ribs. The lung. The eye. Her face remained impassive but her eyes were stormy. No, they weren’t just angry. They were dangerous. He felt like he had been punched in the chest. This woman could kill at the drop of a hat, he realised. This woman _had_ killed at the drop of a hat. No doubt about it. He was looking at a killer.

 

“Who was this client?” She asked.

 

“His name was on the brands. Alessandro Rossi.” He replied. He had memorised it. Every time Emil was shirtless, he saw that name staring back at him. Emil had never asked what the brands on the back said, so Michele had never told him. What was the point of Emil knowing Alessandro’s surname? It was a really common surname, too.

 

“I see.” Soňa clenched her teeth and looked out of the window. She then stood and went to get another mug of coffee. When she sat down again with a fresh cup, she appeared more relaxed. She closed her eyes.

 

“My mother said I should tell you the circumstances of Emil’s situation.” She opened her eyes again. She didn’t look at him. Was that… guilt, in the minute changes to her expression? “But I’m afraid you are going to be very angry at me. At us.”

 

“That may be the case.” Michele ran a hand through his short hair. “But I need to know if I’m going to have any chance at changing things.”

 

“Is that what you want?” She suddenly looked at him intensely. “No matter the consequences, no matter what happens, even if it puts you in danger? Is it what you want?”

 

“No.” He met her gaze with his own forceful look. “It’s what I _need._ And it’s what Emil needs, before he meets someone like Alessandro again and gets unlucky. I can’t live without him. So tell me.” He watched her face as it changed back into the polite smile.

 

“My baby brother is lucky to have a man like you.” She said. He didn’t agree (Emil deserved better than a man like him) but he decided not to say anything, lest she take back her offer of telling him the situation. “Now, don’t interrupt what I’m about to say, got it? Let me start by establishing that the Nekola family isn’t a normal family. I don’t know if you had guessed, but we’re involved in organised crime. When it comes to the Czech mafia, there’s no family higher.” A smirk came to her face again. He had suspected as much, but he was surprised it was really that serious. Emil was… a part of something like this? “But our country is small, so it’s not that big a claim. My father, Othmar Nekola, is head of the family. My younger brother Bohumir is set to take over from him when he dies.” Her face didn’t change, but her eyes flashed with jealousy. “Any questions so far?”

 

Michele ran his thumb along the rim of his mug.

 

“Why aren’t you taking over? You’re the oldest.” He decided he might as well address that.

 

“My father doesn’t believe women can lead. Especially not mothers. He believes us to be soft and emotional.” She rolled her eyes. Michele almost laughed. If anything, Emil was the soft one. Soňa was a little scary. A mother, though? Yes, he could see that too. He wondered how many nieces and nephews Emil had. She continued. “So Bohumir is second in command, instead. He’s a good leader, but he isn’t cut out for it. He’s too self-destructive. He would destroy the whole family if it meant clinging to power. He can’t see what’s important. The rest of us have various other jobs in the family. But Emil… he was so young, so… late. Mum wanted a different life for him. And when he got into figure skating, and it turned out he was good at it… well, father didn’t care. He already had six other kids, so Emil doing something different, being a ‘disappointment’, didn’t seem to bother him. But… back to the point. About five years ago, father made a bad deal with one of the Italian mafias. He took out a big loan to fund some drugs he was importing from China, but the shipment got stopped by the authorities. He couldn’t afford to pay the loan back, and the money the Nekolas owed just kept getting bigger and bigger. That Italian family… Are the Rossi family. I know it’s a common surname here, but there’s a possibility that this Alessandro Rossi is a member of that family.”

 

At this point she put her elbows on the table and clutched her hands together tightly. Her whole body became tense and coiled, like a bowstring. He didn’t dare move. He feared that if he moved even a single muscle, she might attack on instinct.

 

“The Rossi family… threatened all-out war. They’re not a high-ranking family but they’re a bit bigger than us. There’s a possibility we could have taken them in a fight, but father didn’t want to risk it, not when they made such a… generous offer.” Her eyes narrowed. An ominous feeling grew in Michele’s gut. She couldn’t mean…? “One of the Nekola children, in exchange for forgetting about the debt. Father thought it was perfect. The Rossis made the offer to humiliate us. Humiliation to them meant that with one of our own slaving away in a brothel somewhere under their family, our family wouldn’t be taken seriously ever again. That was better than risking war. It was even better than having the money back, to the Rossis. They thought it would destroy our family without them having to lift a finger.”

 

“You…” Michele’s hands were shaking. His coffee had gone cold, but he downed it like a shot of alcohol to try to settle the rising anger.

 

“I told you not to interrupt.” She glared at him and muttered something about needing a damn cigarette. “Father chose Emil because he was the obvious choice. Not many people in our world knew he existed, so the humiliation would be weakened. It didn’t matter to father that Emil was young, or that he didn’t intend to go into the family business, or that he was semi-famous because of his skating. It didn’t matter that Emil had dreams.” She turned her glare to the table. “We could do nothing to convince him. Mum argued for weeks about it. Bohumir agreed with the decision. We all thought Emil would cry and beg not to go, but that idiot…”

 

She trailed off, and seemed unable to continue. Her hands were clenched around her mug so tight that he thought she might break it. So he continued for her, because he knew Emil well enough to guess.

 

“…He said it was alright, as long as he was protecting all of you. Even now, he says things like that. He says things can’t change, because if they did, a lot of people would get hurt.” He murmured. She nodded tersely.

 

“Yes. That’s true. But…” Her hands slowly relaxed. “There is a way. There’s a plan. We’ve been working on it for the last three years… putting things in place.” She looked up to study his face. He stared back, not able to stop the hope replacing his anger. Is there hope after all? Is this tiny last resort really going somewhere? “I can’t talk about it here, but it’s a solid plan. All we need… is Emil’s cooperation.”

 

_________

 

Emil had no idea why Mickey had called him to the flat at such short notice. He didn’t usually do that. They had a schedule. They would meet every other day, either in the morning or evening. This fit around their jobs. It was working. Mickey liked to stick to the rules. So why was he changing things now? Worry curled in him like a snake curling to strike. What if Mickey had changed his mind about their relationship?

 

He was so worried that he actually went to talk to Noa about it, just before he had to leave.

 

“Are you serious?” Noa had shaken her head and looked at him like he had just told her she was the new Queen of England. “That man loves you so damn much, Emil. Like I said, I think you guys might get your happily ever after. Believe in yourself. And in him.”

 

The words echoed in his head as he punched in the code for the front door of Mickey’s block of flats. He was still thinking on the words when he entered the lift, and when he exited the lift a few minutes later.

 

However, the words flew out of his head the moment he opened the door to Mickey and Sara’s flat.

 

“Soňa?!” He froze in the doorway for a second in shock – really, what? She was the last person he had expected to – well maybe not the last, Obama would have been a bigger surprise – or maybe his first dog, a golden retriever who had passed away several years ago – boy would that be a surprise – because of her being dead, though Obama wasn’t dead and nor was – Soňa!

 

He ran up to hug her when she stood from the sofa. Then they were both laughing, squeezing each other tight. The last time they had seen each other, she had been taller than him. Now he felt like he towered over her. Eventually she held him at arm’s length. He was crying. She wasn’t, but she did look teary-eyed.

 

“You got old, baby brother.” She said to him in Czech. It had been so long since he last heard his native language (from someone who didn’t butcher the pronunciation, Mickey) that he almost couldn’t understand. Then his brain kicked in and he laughed.

 

“You’re one to talk, old lady. You’re in your forties now. And I told you when I left that you should give up smoking. You stink.” He grinned down at her. She had barely aged in the last four years. She didn’t look a day over 35, despite the cigarettes and looking after two teenagers. “How are the kids?” He added. He loved his nieces and nephews. Most of them had still been young when he left.

 

“A pain in my arse is what they are. Anděla is seventeen going on thirty. Thinks she runs the damn place.” She glared when she knew that Emil was about to make a dumb ‘like mother like daughter’ comment. “Edvard is thirteen. He’s got all the usual angst of that age. Everything’s the end of the fucking world.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mickey raise his eyebrows. Though Mickey didn’t understand what was being said, Emil assumed that Soňa had been her polite all-business-no-play self around him. Now that she was with family, she was distinctly relaxed and… foul mouthed. Next to him, Sara was smiling at the reunion. 

 

“Hell. They grew up quick. What about the others?”

 

“Alexandr’s son is five, now. Shitty brat, that one. Jarek got married, the wife’s expecting. Pavla has a two-year-old daughter. Bohumir’s partner had twins in the end… and we both know I can’t exactly call her his ‘wife’.” She rolled her eyes. “No man or woman will touch Zikmund with a ten-foot pole. He’s still an utter twat.”

 

“No surprises there.” Emil agreed. “And Mum?” He paused. “…Father?”

 

“Both fine. Getting on in years, but when are they not?” She sat down on the sofa again, and pulled him down, too. “Enough about all that. Right now I’m here about you. You’re different. You’re just…” She glanced at Mickey, but she probably knew he didn’t understand much Czech. “…Waiting to die here, right? You don’t even really want to live.” She reached out and held his cheeks in her hands. He thumb brushed away his tears when they started to fall again. “It’s okay. We’ll fix this.”

 

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. She had hit the nail on the head. But hearing it out loud, from someone he admired... he felt so weak. He was drifting through life like a robot, an actor, smiling in the right places in the script and waiting to die. Waiting for the end of the play. He broke down and hid his head in her shoulder to hide his quiet sobbing. She was like a second mum to him, rather than a sister, because she was already 25 when he was born. Her own kids were only a little younger than him. She had always looked after him whenever their mum was busy. And it seemed she still knew him better than anyone.

 

Emil had no idea how much time had passed before he eventually pulled away and accepted a tissue from Sara. At least he only had to dry one side of his face. Try to look on the bright side, he told himself, because otherwise he would probably break down again. He now noticed that Mickey was sitting on his other side, and was holding his hand.

 

“Are you good now?” Mickey asked softly. Emil smiled weakly in response, so Mickey went on. “I called your mother, with the number you gave me four years ago. She told me to meet with someone today, and, well…”

 

“I happened to be in the area.” Soňa waved a hand and reached inside her tank top, and then inside her bra, for a cigarette. She didn’t light it, she just held it between her lips. He wondered how loosely she was defining ‘in the area’. She had probably been all the way over in Switzerland or France, or Slovenia. She had switched to Italian, to include the Crispinos in the conversation.

 

“She told me all about… the whole situation.” Mickey sounded apologetic, but Emil didn’t mind. Sure, it was the kind of thing he should have told Mickey himself… but he probably never would have. So he didn’t care if Soňa told him. “And she said there’s a plan.”

 

“A plan?” Sara picked up her cat from the armchair so she could sit down. “To get Emil out?”

 

“Yes and no.” Soňa chewed on the cigarette. She looked like she really wanted to light it. “It’s more… a plan to take over from father and Bohumir. That Emil gets free is… more of a pleasant side effect.”

 

“I already don’t like the sound of this.” Emil muttered. “You want a civil war?”

 

“The family is going downhill, Emil. At this rate, when Bohumir takes over, half the fucking family will split off anyway. The whole thing with you… it damaged trust. If father and Bohumir were willing to sell you out, who’s next? The next time we have a disagreement with someone, will it be one of my kids next? One of your other nieces or nephews? Bohumir values the business over the family. Bastard’s not loyal. I need to take over the family now to stop the bloodshed of a split”

 

If Mickey was surprised at Soňa’s swearing, he didn’t show it. All he did was nod. Emil sighed.

 

“I can… understand that. But people could die, you know? So…” He squeezed Mickey’s hand. “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”

 

Soňa stood and went to stand by the open window. She couldn’t hold back anymore, and she took a lighter out of her bra to light her cigarette. Sara and Mickey wrinkled their noses but didn’t comment. The cat escaped to the kitchen.

 

“Some of us have been gathering supplies for the last couple of years. More than half of the employees are on board. Out of us siblings, only Zikmund is on Bohumir and father’s side. But the rules of the Nekola family…” She looked at Emil, to see if he remembered. Naturally, he did. That kind of thing had been drilled into him since he’d been born.

 

“…State that to launch a succession bid, you need the support of half the male heirs. You have Alexandr and Jarek, but you and Pavla are women. There are five brothers, so you need three of us.” Emil concluded. “Otherwise, your authority will never be recognised.”

 

“So, wait, you’re just _using_ Emil?” Sara interrupted. Soňa glared at her, but she glared back just as fiercely. Mickey looked like he was about to stand up and punch Emil’s sister for thinking badly of Sara.

 

“I already told you. Emil being free is a happy coincidence. It’s a necessity for the plan.” Soňa took a long drag of the cigarette and blew it out towards the open window. Emil chuckled.

 

“Don’t worry. I expected nothing different. Our world, the mafia… it’s not like a normal family. This kind of plan is nothing unusual. We’re all tools, in one way or another.” He smiled at Soňa, who smirked at the Crispinos and tapped the ash out of the window. “So, tell us. What’s the plan?”

 

“Firstly, we get you out of that damn place. We make it clear to the Rossis that the deal is off. When they talk to father, he will realise it’s not his doing. Then we move out and declare the takeover bid, with Emil as our third brother. I’ve set up assassinations of the key figures on father’s side and I’ve taken over the key bank accounts. The Rossi family will likely leave us alone for a while, watching to see the outcome of the fight. We’ll deal with them after we’ve got the Nekola business secured. It’s a solid plan. It should take… only a month, probably.”

 

“A month…” Mickey looked at Emil. Emil could tell what he was thinking. Emil could be free almost immediately, and in a month it would all be over. They could start their new lives. Mickey looked so hopeful that Emil couldn’t bear to look at him. He thought the plan over in his mind. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't safe enough. If someone died, their blood would be on his hands.

 

“No.” Emil looked instead at Soňa. “I won’t do it. It’s too risky. Right now, as everything is… everyone is safe. Yes, things will change once father dies. But he’s only seventy-two. It could be a long time before he dies. So… so I won’t do it. I’m not going to be a part of putting everyone’s lives in danger.”

 

“What are you saying?” Mickey stood up. Their hands fell apart from each other. He had never seen Mickey this angry. His tanned face went red, his eyebrows furrowed, purple eyes glared dangerously. “This is your only chance! It’s the only way! Don’t you want… to be free? Don’t you want to be with me, properly?”

 

“And what exactly are we now, then, if we’re not together ‘properly’? Am I not enough for you, as I am?” Emil stood up as well. His hands clenched at his sides. This was followed by silence. Emil and Mickey glared at each other. It felt like a chasm was opening up between them, even as they stood only a metre apart. The tense silence went on until Emil started to leave. When he reached the door, Soňa’s voice made him pause.

 

“Mickey knows how to contact me if you change your mind.” She said. He didn’t look back, but he knew she was disappointed in him. “ _When_ you change your mind.” She added. Before she or the Crispinos could say anything else, Emil left.

 

It wasn’t a ‘when’. Or an ‘if’. He wasn’t going to change his mind. Nothing would change his mind… right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That chapter was extra long, eh? In my planning document it was two chapters, but I decided to put it into one, instead. There's a lot of exposition in this chapter, but at least that means there won't be much necessary in the future. The length of this chapter also makes up for the fact that my updates are going to get slow. I've decided I'll only update once I've finished an assignment. I have like... six or seven assignments, including an exam. Lots of them are short but some will require much more work. My next assignment is due on the 16th, so I should at least update after that! I'm sure you've all noticed, but I looooove a good cliffhanger. That cliff's only going to get taller as the stakes are raised, folks.
> 
> As for the Nekola family... that Emil has a big family has always been my headcanon. He's described as having a 'little brother' type personality, so I figured it would be fun for him to have a bunch of older siblings. Then I thought 'ice skating is an expensive hobby for a kid before you get good and get sponsors... what if the Nekola family got their money in a way that wasn't legal?'. That led to the mafia thing being kind of my official headcanon. This fic came about much later!   
> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! You guys make my day whenever I see a new comment :)


	16. Goodbye to the World You Thought You Lived In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's a funny thing... but people mostly have it backward. They think they live by what they want. But really, what guides them is what they're afraid of. What they don't want.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished another assessment! The next chapter will probably be up around the 23rd.

Competing on the other side of the world from Emil was… the last thing that Michele wanted to be doing right now. He and Emil had made up – sort of, since they still weren’t talking about the plan and Emil’s rejection of it – but the departing scene at the airport hadn’t been as heartfelt as they both would have liked. Emil’s enthusiastic ‘good luck’ was dampened by their argument a month prior. Michele had been hurt by Emil’s words, and he knew his own words had hurt Emil, too.

 

“Stop moping.” Sara threw a pillow at him and pouted. He usually enjoyed being housed in hotels during competitions, but he couldn’t get his mind off Emil. He huffed and looked out over Osaka. Japan was one of his favourite places to compete, too. His hosts were so polite.

 

“I can’t help it, Sara. I can’t help worrying about him. I have no idea what’s going on while I’m not there.”

 

“I know. But you have to concentrate. Remember he’s watching. You don’t want to disappoint him.” Sara stood from her bed and came to stand next to him in front of the window. Their shoulders touched. “Do well, and then we can go home to him. And then we’ll convince him to get help from his sister, and everything will be okay.”

 

Michele reached out and took her hand. He felt space growing slowly between them. They weren’t as close as they once were. It was as much Michele’s fault as it was Sara’s, and that scared him. Part of him was panicking over it. What if Sara got hurt? Got bullied again? But a small part of him was glad they could be apart. Maybe it was for the best.

 

The next day was the men’s short programme. Michele dressed and started to warm up. He would be competing 2nd out of 6 competitors. He watched the first man out on the ice and frowned. The man – a teenager, from Australia – was clearly putting in his all. He was inexperienced, though, and likely wouldn’t place. Michele had the experience. But did he have the heart?

 

“You’re skating this one for him, right?” Sara had been quiet up until then, letting their coach do all the talking. Their coach went quiet when Sara spoke up. She smiled at her twin. “So why don’t you go out there and show him how you feel?”

 

Michele didn’t reply, but he looked out on the ice as the Australian was receiving his score. Michele didn’t hear what it was. He didn’t care. He wasn’t doing it for the score. He opened the gate and skated out to the middle of the ice. For a moment, everything was quiet. The music began. Michele stopped hesitating.

 

He began the first step sequence with a determination he had never before experienced in himself. He was a knight. A man of chivalry. His goal? Save the man he loved before it was too late. For a split second that thought – _too late, never seeing him again, being alone again, like before_ – stuck and he almost slipped, but instead he threw himself into the triple axel with a vigour almost bordering recklessness. He _would_ save Emil, there was no ifs or buts. Resolve fuelled his every movement. He landed the quadruple salchow powerfully and launched into the combination triple lutz, triple loop. With every jump he felt stronger, more able. He was going to go back to Turin and he was going to hold Emil and never let him go. The old feelings of weakness, inadequacy, faded like chalk in the rain. When he felt exhaustion creep up on him he pushed it away to focus on the last steps. The last few moments. He pushed his arms up and looked at the camera, imagined Emil on the other side of the world. He gazed down the lens, communicating everything he needed with just a glance.

 

The music ended. Michele was shocked out of his trance by the rapturous applause of the audience, especially Sara and their coach, who were yelling in the kiss and cry. Michele shook himself and skated over.

 

He stared at the score when it came through, unable to believe his eyes. A personal best. He kept staring at the score, even as Otabek Atlin took to the ice. Even when the short programme skates were over and – _what the hell!_ – he was _still_ on top, he couldn’t believe it. After the day was over (including lunch, press conferences, a talk by his coach and more press conferences) Sara invited him out for a celebratory meal with her and Mila but – to everyone’s surprise – he turned her down. Instead he went back to their hotel room and sat on his bed. He took out his phone. He only remembered that there was a time difference when Emil picked up.

 

“Hey. Sorry – I forgot – what time is it there? It’s not too late to be calling?” Michele asked. Emil’s smooth voice chuckled in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

 

“It’s nine in the morning. I was awake anyway since your skate was at 3am. I’ll probably nap in a bit.” Michele could hear the grin in Emil’s voice. “You did so well! You’re right at the top! I knew you could do it. I’m so proud! I told Noa tha-”

 

“Did you get them?” Michele interrupted. Emil went quiet, so he clarified. “…My feelings. Did you get them?”

 

“…Yeah.” Emil sighed and Michele heard him shifting. “Loud and clear, Mr Knight. You’re not gonna give up, huh?”

 

“Never.”

 

The next day, Michele performed his free skate. And although he loved his sister dearly, so much, she was the most important woman in his life – it didn’t feel like enough. Compared to his short skate, it wasn’t enough. He landed the quadruple salchow, the triple flip, single loop, triple salchow, but on the triple axel he slipped and fell, touching his hand to the ice before rising again. He tried to focus on Sara. She was watching him, as Emil had. But Emil was still refusing his help and the thought that he could be in danger at this very moment came back and then it was all he could think about. He moved through the step sequence almost absentmindedly. He tripped on the triple lutz but stayed on his feet, and he completed the final step sequences with an air of melancholy that fit the music, though not his theme.

 

Unsurprisingly, his score wasn’t quite so great as his short score. But at the end of the skates he was still good enough for third, just behind Otabek and Seung-gil. This time, he called Emil between the award ceremony and the press conference.

 

“Third! That’s really good, Mickey! I was entranced~”

 

“I could have done better.” Michele grumbled. He knew it, and his coach knew it. Sara probably did, too, but she hadn’t said anything. He still had a good chance of making the Grand Prix Final if he did well at the Rostelecom Cup. Though, that also depended on how everyone else did. Yuri Katsuki was making waves. The more Michele saw the Japanese man skate, the more he believed Emil’s assertion that Yuri and Victor were in love.

 

“Excuse me, Crispino-san? Who are you talking to?”

 

A rather rude Japanese journalist (a rarity – Japanese people were usually so polite) had found his hiding place, tucked behind a wall. He glared at her.

 

“My boyfriend. Please go away.” He said curtly. He didn’t even think about it. It just came out. The young woman gasped and scurried away, writing quickly.

 

“Was that wise?” Emil said in Michele’s ear. He groaned.

 

“No. But I’m done lying. I suppose I just… came out to the world, didn’t I?” He cringed when he realised exactly what that meant. “My parents… shit… they didn’t know.”

 

“They suspected.” A new voice said. He turned to see Sara smiling at him. “They know you wouldn’t go so far to avoid them if it wasn’t about someone you love. Dad’s fine with it. Mum… she’ll come around.”

 

Michele groaned. Emil laughed softly.

 

“Don’t worry Mickey. Even if she doesn’t come around, I bet my mum will like… adopt you. She’s got lots of kids, so she’s always happy for more. When I told her I had a crush on you when I was little, all she did was laugh and help me plan our wedding!”

 

“Our… wedding?” Michele’s eyebrow twitched.

 

“Yeah! I said there would be forty-seven dogs, but mum said that was too many to fit into the church with all our family, too… so I uninvited the family and invited more dogs!”

 

“…Why am I not surprised? You’re impossible, Emil.” Michele said fondly. He smiled as he said it, and then couldn’t help laughing a little. “Anyway, the press conference is about to start. I have to go. Get some sleep, love.” He ignored the way Sara was giggling at Michele calling Emil ‘love’.

 

“Right. See you soon, láska.”

 

Michele hung up. He really hoped Emil was right. He ached without Emil by his side. That night he had trouble sleeping. He stayed awake, listening to Sara breathing, staring out of the slit in the curtain at the Osaka nightlife. His arms twitched with a desire to be held.

 

______________ 

 

Emil missed Mickey more than he thought he would. It shouldn’t be physically possible, he thought, to miss someone this much. But here he was, at 2.30am, staring at his borrowed TV with intense anticipation. Next to him, Noa smiled. They were on his bed (used to be her bed). Despite the weather finally cooling down somewhat now that it was early October, the bar was always boiling. The both of them had foregone shirts and were clad only in shorts. Emil didn’t mind. Noa was a woman, but she could only sporadically afford hormones, so her breasts were small. Even if they’d been big, or if she were cisgender, it still wouldn’t have mattered. Nipples were nipples. She had patched him up so many times that she could probably draw his nipples in great detail if she wanted. Why were hers any different?

 

“You really want to see him that badly, mate?” She flicked his head and he grinned at her.

 

“Hypocrite. You’d get the same way if it were Dylan.” He retorted. She conceded that one, and they both turned their attention back to the screen as Mickey skated out onto the ice.

 

“Wow. He looks good in that. I’ve never seen him skate, so…” Noa raised her eyebrows, surprised. She was trying to match up this elegant skater to the angry and protective man she’d gotten to know recently. But Emil knew they were one and the same. This was amplified when the intention of the skate became clear. Chivalry. An aim to protect. To save. To save _him,_ he realised with a start. The skate was for _him._ It became obvious even to Noa, who glanced at him but said nothing. At the end of the skate Mickey looked into the camera and it was as if he was looking right at Emil, right into his soul. Emil quivered.

 

The room was silent for five whole minutes. When the next skate began, Noa spoke up.

 

“That’s… why. I get it now. That’s why I believe you and him will get a happy ending. Because he’s like that.” She said. Emil didn’t want to argue. Noa had more faith in Mickey than Emil did, and it made him feel guilty. But she went on, despite the look he was giving her. “You need to go for it. He told me all about your sister’s plan. You need to be brave, Emil. I know it’s hard, because you’ve been scared for so long. But you two can be together. You can skate again. If you’re not willing to do it for yourself, you should do it for him. I'll help however I can.”

 

Her words came back to him a few days later when he surprised Mickey at the airport. The press had been all over Mickey since he had accidentally come out of the closet, but the time of his flight had been a well-kept secret. They were alone, and Emil didn’t hesitate to run full speed at Mickey to pick him up in a big hug and swing him around like they were in a cliché rom com film. He laughed at Mickey’s annoyed squawks – _put me down, dammit, Emil!_ – and then greeted Sara with a wave, still holding onto Mickey.

 

_‘You should do it for him.’_

Emil looked down at Mickey. If Emil was truly unwilling for things to change, should he just… break up with Mickey? Leave? Request a transfer? The Rossi family were all over North Italy, surely there were other cities he could work in? He’d been thinking these things ever since the argument. Mickey insisted he didn’t mean it like that, but if Emil wasn’t enough as he was…

 

“What are you thinking about?” It was Sara, glancing at him from the driver’s seat. Mickey and Emil were in the back. Mickey had fallen asleep, his head in Emil’s lap. He ran his fingers through the brown hair.

 

“Nothing important.”

 

“You’re a bad liar, Emil.”

 

Emil and Mickey slept snuggled up in bed together that afternoon. Damn the consequences, he had earnt a night off cuddled up with his lover rather than spreading his legs for cold strangers. But when Mickey woke in the middle of the night (damn jetlag) he was angry that Emil was still there.

 

“Your boss is going to punish you again! You’re so damn reckless!” He slammed a cup of coffee in front of Emil. He didn’t seem to care that he might wake Sara, who was sound asleep in her room. It being 3am and all. Emil bristled.

 

“Not reckless enough, actually, according to you and Soňa.” He muttered. He took a sip of the coffee and winced. Far too strong and bitter, far too hot.

 

“Oh, we’re going to talk about _that_ now?” Mickey sat down across from Emil at the table. “You know how I feel about it. I think you’re stupid for not taking up the offer. You don’t value yourself enough to take the leap!”

 

“I value _other people_ over myself. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Emil corrected.

 

“Except there is. You value yourself even below people who hate you. People who put you here.”

 

“He’s still my father!” Emil grit his teeth. “Bohumir is still my brother! Don’t you get it? My father will _die_ if I go through with this! Yeah, the plan isn’t mine, but it hinges on me. I give the go-ahead. I’m basically signing my father’s death certificate if I do.”

 

“…Is that such a bad thing?” Mickey’s voice, which had been yelling, went soft. “Tell me, Emil. Tell me your good memories of your dad. Even one.”

 

Emil leaned back as if he had been punched in the face. His expression was enough for Mickey, who scoffed and looked away. Emil tried his best. He rifled through his memories like a librarian looking for a document. Age four, age five. You were a mistake. Age six. What the hell is this skating nonsense? Age seven, age eight. Why aren’t you shooting the target every time? Age nine. You are weak. Age ten. A disgrace. Age eleven. You should never have existed. Age twelve. You are not worth raising. Age thirteen, age fourteen. And you’re a faggot? Age fifteen. Finally, you can be of some use.

 

Emil squeezed his eyes closed and fought the memories off. But it wasn’t just about his father. Mickey had to know that.

 

“Bohumir has twins. I don’t know how old they are, but they weren’t born when I left, so they’re still really young. Collateral damage… it means very little to Soňa. She will feel guilty for a day and then she will wipe those children out of her memory like they never existed. Like they were smoke from her cigarette; temporary. Necessary. But it’s not just her. Father and Bohumir will fight back. My other siblings… they’ve got kids too.” He left out Zikmund, because that dick would be on father’s side, anyway. “They won’t hesitate. If it means taking out one of us, they will burn all those kids to ashes.”

 

Mickey’s hand shook slightly. “That shit is going to happen when your father dies anyway. It’ll be even worse, Soňa said. A full family split is worse than a takeover. I’m not a part of that world, Emil, so I have to trust what she says. But _you_ know she’s right, don’t you?” Emil said nothing. He jumped when Mickey’s fist hit the table. “Answer me!”

 

Emil stood and glared. He almost never felt angry. His nerves were bouncing around like frantic flies in a tank. Memories of his father. Memories of Alessandro. His eye burned behind the eyepatch. His whole body burned with it, a rage which was consuming him with years of self-hatred turned outwards at the man he loved.

 

“Fuck you, Mickey! You don’t understand anything! You’re just a… just a… stupid celebrity! You don’t know true suffering. You think making a decision like that is easy? For someone like you, maybe, because you don’t know what they’re all capable of!” _Stop stop stop, Emil, don’t, you’re ruining everything he’s going to hate you now please remember what she said do it for him not for you and you’d risk it all, all of them for him you know you would you know Soňa would keep them safe you know it but you’re scared you’re so scared you won’t admit that the only reason you won’t do it is because you’re scared to **be someone** again you’re scared you’ll never be anything more than trash- _“Just… just… don’t bring it up… again… okay?” He grabbed his coffee and downed it _still too hot too bitter just like you_ and ran out of the door.

 

Emil kept running like the devil himself was on his tail, past passed-out students and stray cats, until he reached the safety of the bar. Or, relative safety. When he entered the bar, his anger and frustration was pushed to the back of his mind. The atmosphere was different than usual. It was tense, and quiet. Even the patrons were subdued, likely reading the change in the air. He went over to the bar itself. Aila was behind it, working as a barmaid. Or, she should be, but instead she had lined up five shot glasses of clear alcohol and was taking them one-by-one without flinching. That in itself was a surprise. Aila didn’t drink clear spirits. She had always been about the whiskey and brandy.

 

When she saw Emil, her face contorted into something conflicted. At first she glared, ferocity in every tense muscle in her little body. Then the rage drained out of her, leaving her hunched over and exhausted, like a puppet with its strings cut. Emil decided not to ask her what was going on. He had his own issues to deal with right now. He turned and climbed the stairs. Upstairs, the atmosphere was the same, or… no, it was even worse up here. He had to talk to Noa, find out what was going on to sate his curiosity, then ask her advice on this plan. Wait – she knew anyway, he recalled. Then, Emil would talk to her about ending things with Mickey. It was the best solution. Emil didn’t bother knocking. He was too worked up. He turned the handle to his old room and pushed open the door.

 

The first thing he saw was a man, standing at the foot of the bed with his back to Emil.

 

The first thing he smelled was the sour tang of iron in the air.

 

The first thing he tasted was his own blood when he bit through his bottom lip.

 

The first thing he felt was the vibration of the man’s footsteps, thump, thump, thump, when he turned and walked towards Emil.

 

The first thing he herd was a familiar man’s voice, plucked straight from his nightmares.

 

“Oh, there you are! I was looking for you, so I paid for your room for tonight. Imagine my surprise when I found someone else here instead! Still, I couldn’t let my heard earnt money go to waste, could I? Beggars can’t be choosers. She cried so well for me.”

 

The second thing he saw was Noa on the bed, red, red, red blood, and her green eyes, open, staring at nothing, because she was…

 

The second sound he heard was his own scream, agonised, terrified, torn from his throat by a grief so raw it ripped into his chest like a lion into her prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my legs blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner 
> 
> I'm sorry :c


	17. Let Myself Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say, Find a purpose in your life and live it. But, sometimes, it is only after you have lived that you recognize your life had a purpose, and likely one you never had in mind.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

Everything was numb. Muted. No matter how loudly people cried around him. Someone screamed in his face. He heard nothing. Felt nothing. It was like he had swallowed a pill that burnt out his insides, chest to stomach to gut, empty. Bodies moved around him out of the corners of his eyes, dream-like and ethereal. It wasn’t real. None of it could be real. Not the ground under his feet, not the hand on his shoulder, not the warm mug of tea shoved into his hands. Not the dead, cold, green eyes that wouldn’t leave him alone. They followed him. Maybe he wasn’t real? Yes, he too must be a ghost. He died, his soul cracking, breaking, shattering, leaving his numb body. The moment _that man’s_ bloody lips kissed him, he died. A tongue violating his mouth, tinged with the metallic liquid, fresh from his dead friend – those eyes, so cold, so green, so dead. Yes, that was when he stopped feeling. The hands that led him away, sat him downstairs. The voices speaking in soft tones around him. They were as dead as she was.

 

Time was also empty. An hour. A year. A day. It was dark and then it wasn’t and then it was, then it wasn’t. Not always in that order. Sometimes it was dark and then he looked and it was dark again. Sometimes he slept but mostly he didn’t.

 

Then someone new. Someone who held him close and whispered. The whispers reached him better than those who yelled at him.

 

“It’s okay, Emil…” A gentle breeze in his ear. “I’m here. Come back to me soon.” The soft Italian murmurs began to thaw him. He saw warm bronze skin. Felt hands lightly holding his face. His eyes flickered up to meet the eyes in front of him. A velvety purple, concerned. Beyond concerned. Terrified. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re with me. He’s not here. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

 

He raised a hand to touch the one on his cheek.

 

“That’s it. Good job, love.”

 

Amore. Love. Only one person called him that.

 

“Mick…ey…”

 

Relief flooded the purple eyes. Emil felt like he was waking up from a very long sleep. Or a long nightmare. Or perhaps a coma.

 

“How are you feeling?” Mickey moved one hand and put it on Emil’s knee. Emil blinked several times and looked around. He was in Mickey and Sara’s flat. He could see Sara in the kitchen. Sara’s cat was sitting next to Emil on the sofa. Mickey was kneeling in front of Emil, between his knees. At any other time he would have blushed at the position.

 

“Hungry.” He mumbled. His throat was raw and his voice cracked.

 

“That figures. We could get you to drink but we couldn’t get you to eat.”

 

Emil’s head hurt. He was hearing the words, but they weren’t making a lot of sense yet. He looked outside. It was daytime, though the horizon was beginning to bleed with orange hues. When he glanced at the clock, he found it was early evening. His thoughts and memories were jumbled like someone had put them in a washing machine and spun them for hours. His chest still felt cold with those green eyes. The taste of blood.

 

“What happened?” He croaked. Sara handed him a bowl of soup. He took his hand away from Mickey’s to hold onto it. As he started to eat he caught sight of the Crispino twins out of the corner of his eye, sharing a look of pity and grief.

 

“What do you remember?” Sara asked. He looked at the soup. It was hot. He still felt cold. Mickey was sitting next to him now. He had argued with Mickey. He remembered that.

 

“We argued.” His voice was smoother now that he had cleared it with the soup. “I left. I went back to the bar. Aila was drinking. I went upstairs. I was going to talk with Noa about the argument.” He followed himself in his mind. Up the stairs. Through the door. His palms started to sweat. Someone took the bowl when it almost slipped from his grasp. Blood. Footsteps. A voice.

 

“She… she’s dead, isn’t she?”

 

Silence.

 

“…Yes. I’m sorry, Emil.” Mickey held his hand again. He breathed out slowly. Noa was gone. Dead. She would never, ever come back. He wasn’t ever going to see her again. She would never make him tea again. She would never bandage his wounds again. She would never share her wine with him on a special occasion, or laugh at his drunk singing. They would never huddle together on cold nights for warmth, sharing stories of home. They would never look at the stars together out of the window and wonder if there was something more out there. Something more than this life.

 

“It’s my fault.” Emil gasped through the tears on his face. “Oh my god, it’s all my fault. If I – if we, the rooms – if we hadn’t swapped – he was l-looking… for me. It should h-have been me. Oh my god.” He tore his hand from Mickey’s and held his head, snagging his fingers in the strings of his eyepatch. He couldn’t bring himself to sob. Broken, silent tears were all he had the energy to produce.

 

“H-Hey… it’s not. You couldn’t have known.” Mickey rubbed Emil’s back, but Emil was barely listening.

 

“Dylan… I remember… he was yelling at me…”

 

_‘He was after you! He didn’t have anything against her! If you’d… been here, then… she wouldn’t have… we were… so close, I almost… I almost had enough! You’ve ruined everything! She’s gone! She’s… gone…’_

“He was distraught.” Mickey said. He firmly took Emil’s hands away from his head and then caught his chin to make Emil look at him. “I would be the same way. If it had been you. It’s been four days since she died, love. Wolfram brought you to us yesterday. You weren’t responding. He said Dylan’s devastated. They don’t know if he’ll get through this. Don’t take what he says to heart.”

 

Four days? He had lost that much time? He wished he could go back to that state again. Nothing mattered then. Nothing was real. But the soft hands wiping his tears away were real, and he couldn’t lose them. He blinked back to reality and found that Mickey was crying, too. But no matter what Mickey said, the guilt in Emil’s gut didn’t budge an inch. If Emil had been there, instead of with Mickey, Noa would be alive. Alessandro would have gone into Noa’s new room and Noa could have told him… no, that wasn’t right. Noa wouldn’t do that. Even if Emil was only two doors down, she wouldn’t have told Alessandro where he was. Then… if Emil had been there, he could have heard what was going on and stopped it.

 

Only, Emil would probably be dead. Alessandro was the type to escalate. He’d almost died last time. He was sure he would be dead right now if Noa wasn’t. With a sharp moment of clarity, he realised he wished he was dead. Dylan had been so close to having enough money. Noa could have left. All it would have taken was Emil’s life. A small price to pay. But even a few nights ago (no, he’d lost four days, so it was a week ago, now) Noa hadn’t thought it would really happen. She had told him that Dylan almost had enough money, but she’d shaken her head and told him it wouldn’t happen. Love stories don’t have happy endings in our line of work. That’s what she always said.

 

But even yesterday (no, dammit, five days ago) she believed with all her heart that Mickey and Emil would get that happy ending. Why? Why were they special? Dylan had the same determination that Mickey had, so why?

 

Abruptly, Emil stood.

 

“I have to see Dylan.” He said. He wobbled on his feet, and remembered that he hadn’t eaten in four days. Or slept much, apparently. He felt awful. But he had to see Dylan. Nothing else mattered.

 

“You’re in no state to be going out.” Mickey stood and steadied Emil. At the look Emil shot him, he sighed. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

 

“No. I have to do this alone.” Emil pulled himself out of Mickey’s grip. Mickey’s expression dropped, like a lost boy who was being left behind. Or a man who thought his lover might slip away from him and never come back. A man who thought things might be ending. For all Emil knew, that was the case. This might make or break Emil. It might make or break _them._ The whole relationship. If he left, if what he found out there broke him, he could never go through with his sister’s plan. And that would break Mickey in turn. With a bone-weary sigh, Emil cupped Mickey’s cheeks. “I’ll come back.” He said. And he meant it. Even if he came back shattered, he would come back even if it was just to break things off with Mickey so that he could go back to the bar and await death at the hands of Alessandro.

 

“Okay.” Mickey nodded slowly. “Okay.”

 

Emil borrowed some money from Sara and got into a taxi. Dylan’s address was in his phone (Noa had known to put it there – why had she known?) and soon enough he was pulling up in front of Dylan’s house. From here, he could see the mountains that surrounded most of Turin. The western Alpine arch. He could see Superga hill, too, with the Basilica of Superga shining white and proud atop it. He knocked on Dylan's door.

 

A young man answered. He looked similar to Dylan, tall and broad with dark brown hair. He looked tired. When he spoke, it was in English, with a heavy Welsh accent. He must be one of Dylan’s two brothers.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I’m looking for Dylan. Is he…? I don’t know if he’ll want to see me, but…” Emil floundered a bit, realising that Dylan might just send him away anyway.

 

“You’re Emil?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Come in.”

 

Emil stepped inside. It was overly warm inside the small house. It seemed the heating was on. Maybe Dylan felt the same cold in his soul that Emil did. The brother led Emil to the living room. On the sofa sat Dylan. When Emil sat across from him, in an armchair, he cringed at the look on the Welshman’s face. The once strong and kindhearted man was a shadow. Nothing showed on his face, in his eyes. A bottomless pit. He looked as hollow as Emil felt. On the coffee table between them was an empty bottle of what had probably once been whiskey. The brother picked it up and dropped two cups of tea in their place.

 

“I wondered when you would come.” Dylan blinked, only just realising that Emil was there. He reached for his whiskey but grasped at the air where it had been ten seconds ago. Then his eyes fell to the tea, and he picked that up instead. Emil followed suit. Someone had mentioned to the brother how Emil took his tea. He found it almost as sweet and almost as strong as Noa’s. But it wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the same.

 

“I would have come sooner. But I only just… woke up.” He said lamely. He didn’t know if Dylan would understand, but the Welshman nodded. He understood. It had been four days. Dylan had had four days to come to terms with it. Emil felt like it had only just happened. Still, denial permeated the air between them. There was anger, too, and despair. None of it showed on Dylan’s face. “What are you going to do now?” He asked. Dylan only stayed in Turin for Noa. He was a rugby player. Other countries had better offerings for a player of his talent. Dylan stared at his tea and didn’t drink it.

 

“…I’ll… use some of the money I saved to take her home. To New Zealand. It’s what she wanted. Then I’ll…” A flicker crossed his face. Anger – no, worse than anger. A dark fury. “…Find and kill the man who did this.”

 

Emil shivered. It wasn’t a promise. It was fact. Dylan was going to kill Alessandro. Emil didn’t know if that would be possible. Alessandro was likely armed. Dylan only had his fists and the rage of revenge.

 

“She knew this was going to happen.” Dylan said suddenly, after a long silence. Emil jumped and almost spilled his tea. He searched Dylan’s face but nothing had changed. The crushing grief was so overwhelming that nothing else could be found in his expression.

 

“How…” Emil cleared his throat. “How do you know?”

 

“She said so. She said she knew there was a risk that by taking your room she would get that man come by looking for you.” Dylan’s hand clenched when he mentioned Alessandro. “She didn’t care. She wanted to protect you.”

 

Emil put down his tea. His hands were shaking too badly to keep holding it. The guilt rose up again like a long tidal wave. His eyes stung with tears.

 

“…I’m sorry.” He choked on a sob and the tears fell down his cheeks into his beard. “If it weren’t for me, s-she’d still be-“

 

“Don’t!” Dylan slammed his hands down on the table between them with a loud crack, spilling both cups of tea. He stood and towered over Emil, his eyes glinting with angry tears. Emil yelped and cringed back in shock. “Do you think she wants you to mope and cry and give up?! Huh?! Are you going to let this beat you down and kill you or are you going to stand up and honour what she wanted for you? Are you going to make her sacrifice worthless? Are you going to let her life mean nothing?!” Dylan didn’t give him chance to speak. He took an envelope from under the table and threw it at Emil. “If you don’t want to hear it from me, hear it from her. Now get out of my house and don’t fucking come back until you’ve found your will to live.”

 

Emil clutched the envelope and ran from the house. He ran and ran until his legs gave out under him. He stumbled, staggered, and collapsed against a wall. When he looked up, he found himself in a familiar alley. It was dark, just like when he had met Mickey. He had met Mickey right here, at this very spot, triggering this sorry tale. He pulled himself into a sitting position, slumped against the wall. With trembling fingers, he gently pulled the envelope open. He took out the letter inside, and read it by moonlight.

 

_Emil,_

_If you’re reading this, I must be dead. There are lots of ways that could have happened (remember that conversation we had about sharks?) but most likely, I’ve been killed. I’m penning down these words because I know what you’re like, you silly man._

_Don’t blame yourself. If you do, then bloody hell, I’m going to haunt you so hard. Dylan’s going to be a mess and he might say things he doesn’t mean. Don’t take it to heart. He doesn’t blame you. Try to look out for him, eh? I made the decision to protect you by myself. I know you can get out of this. I know you can win your happiness. So don’t you dare give up! You are special. You are wanted, you are worthy, you are loved. You are going to be someone great. If the only thing I’ve ever done right is giving my life for yours, then my life was worth it. If my only purpose was saving Emil Nekola, I can die happy. I can die knowing I gave the world a wonderful person back._

_Go, Emil. Fight for yourself. I love you, kid._

_-Noa_

 

Emil crumpled the letter in his hand and sobbed, collapsing in on himself and curling up smaller and smaller as if he could stop existing. He hugged the letter. For a moment it felt like he was hugging Noa, a small part of her, a tiny part of her that she had left behind in this world just for him. He could almost feel her thin arms around him and hear her laughter. Her warm hands would touch the cold tears on his cheeks and wipe them away.

 

He blinked and found himself in front of Mickey’s block of flats. He had no idea how he got there, when he’d stood up, when he’d put the letter away. He could remember none of that. He couldn’t remember the code to get in, either. He rang the buzzer.

 

“Hello?” Mickey’s voice did nothing to shake him out of his grief. He squeezed out a word. Whispered it, desperately.

 

“Mickey…”

 

He blinked, then Mickey was filling his vision and wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, enveloping him, warming him, lighting a tiny flame in him. He was pulled up to the flat and they sat huddled in together on the armchair. Emil had to fold himself tight to get his long body to fit. His head fitted against Mickey’s chest. The more they clung to each other, the brighter the flame grew. He never wanted to let Mickey go. Dylan had to let Noa go. She had given Emil a chance to grasp something she never could. A future. She didn’t want Mickey to be in Dylan’s place because Mickey wasn’t strong enough to handle it. He tried to imagine Mickey, like Dylan, drinking himself to death, catatonic, barely functioning. Imagined Sara, trying hopelessly to save Mickey. Mickey giving up skating. Giving up on life.

 

“I have to…” Emil frowned, surprised by his own voice. “I can’t… die like this. Like her. I won’t do that to you. I have a choice. She didn’t.” He closed his eyes. He listened to Mickey’s heartbeat. Steady. Certain. He felt a hand smooth through his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it earlier. It’s time to put myself first. Put _us_ first.”

 

He moved until he could look Mickey in the face. Mickey was crying, so he smoothed the tears away with his lips. He whispered against his lover’s cheeks.

 

“Call Soňa.”

 

_“You need to be brave, Emil. I know it’s hard, because you’ve been scared for so long. But you two can be together. You can skate again. If you’re not willing to do it for yourself, you should do it for him.”_

_I love you, kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An early update? Hell yeah! I wrote this in between assignments. I'm uploading this in between editing my assignments which are due... tomorrow. Eek. But since I had it finished I felt bad that it was just sitting there whilst you guys are waiting on an update, so I'm uploading. I don't have any of the next chapter written at all, but I don't have a lot of assignments left after tomorrow, either. I've kind of screwed up my timeline a bit so I have a few decisions to make regarding what exactly will be in the next chapter. I've got a couple of different options but I'm sure it'll work out.
> 
> I'm really sad that I had to kill Noa, but I knew that the Emil in my head wasn't going to ever get out of that place without a push. She had to be the push. Noa is based off the way I roleplay Hetalia's New Zealand (although Noa's a woman, and my New Zealand's a bloke) and I've been RPing NZ for a very long time so the character of Noa is dear to my heart. Dylan is based off my friend's Wales OC so when I told her I was going to kill off Noa she was sad because she knew how close Noa and Dylan are in every incarnation. He'll be appearing less now... but I'm not going to forget about him.  
> Thanks again for all your lovely comments and kudos! They really motivate me! Even when I should be... y'know... earning my Master's degree... ;)


	18. Going Somewhere?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will follow you to the ends of the world.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

Sunshine. Bright sunshine, rising through the window on a new day. Michele’s back was warm, but his chest felt cold, except for where an arm curled around him, across his heart. He opened his eyes. The warmth on his back, cocooned around him, was Emil. A smile came unbidden to his face. At some point last night after the phonecall to Soňa they had moved to his bed. They had cuddled in comfortable silence, until exhaustion won over them.

 

During the night they had moved together like magnets. Emil was spooning him tight and he felt the Czech’s hot breath against the back of his neck. He managed to wiggle out of the grip a bit, just enough to turn his head and look at Emil’s sleeping form. His face looked far more peaceful than before. Over those three weeks in July, Michele had noticed that Emil frowned a little in his sleep. Now, though, Emil’s face had relaxed. The eyepatch had been taken off before they slept. Michele could see the mess of scars over the eyelid and around the eye. The scars were still red and raised, but mostly healed. Emil didn’t need the white medical eyepatch anymore but he still wore it. The injury was ugly and shocking. Michele didn’t see ugliness when he saw it. He saw Emil’s resilience. He saw Emil’s determination, his shining heart. It showed that Emil was a survivor. Michele thought it was beautiful. He kept staring without shame even when Emil opened his eyes. The injured eye only opened halfway, and the pupil was clouded and milky.

 

“G’morning…” Emil mumbled in English.

 

“Good morning.” Michele answered in kind. Soňa told him on the phone last night that he should practice his English. He wanted to go with Emil back to the Czech Republic and most people there didn’t speak Italian. He didn’t know when they would be going. Soňa would call them back soon. In the meantime, Emil and Michele had switched to speaking in English to prepare for the future.

 

It was hard for Michele to believe all of this was really happening. Just five days ago he was starting to come to terms with the idea that Emil would never have the courage to change things. Then they argued, and Emil disappeared. When he didn’t come back the next day, or the day after that, Michele started to worry. There was a chance Emil just decided to never see him again, but Sara pointed out that Emil wasn’t that cruel. No, Michele was worried that Emil had been hurt again. But if he were in hospital, surely Noa would have said something? She had his number, she would have called. So Michele thought that Emil was taking a few days to cool off after the argument.

 

It wasn’t until the dark-skinned German man (the one he’d met before, Emil’s friend) buzzed his flat that he knew something was seriously wrong.

 

_Michele answered the buzzer and was rewarded with rapid-fire German, so fast it made his head hurt. He groaned, reminded of the last time one of Emil’s friends had buzzed him. It was mid-afternoon, this time, rather than the middle of the night._

_“Dammit, Emil, don’t make this a habit…” Michele muttered. He hung up the buzzer and went downstairs. To his surprise, the German man didn’t have Emil slung over one shoulder or carried on his back. Emil stood behind the German man – Wolfram, he suddenly remembered, that was the name. Wolfram had a firm hand around Emil’s wrist._

_Michele opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on – Emil didn’t seem injured – when he actually looked into Emil’s eyes. He froze. There was nothing there. Emil’s gaze was vacant and empty. He stared at the wall by Michele’s head as if looking through the bricks and mortar, through the building, through time and space and into nothingness. It was as if someone had pulled Emil’s soul out of his body._

_“He… like zis, three days.” Wolfram let go of Emil’s hand. It fell and hung at the Czech teen’s side listlessly. Wolfram’s face was desperate and sad. “Noa… died. Killed. By Alessandro. Since zat, he like this. Ve can not make eat, only drink, und he does not sleep. Bitte, helfen Sie!”_

_Michele moved past Wolfram. He had a weird sense of déjà vu. It was like before, when he’d moved past Noa to get to Emil, held by Wolfram. Only now, Noa was…_

_No, he could think about that later. Emil was priority._

_“Emil?” He took Emil’s hand. It was cold. He started to pull, and Emil obediently followed – his eyes fixed on the wall. Michele looked at Wolfram. “I’ll… think of something. Give me your number, I’ll call if anything changes.”_

_After they exchanged numbers, Michele pulled Emil gently to the lift. He was worried that if they took the stairs, Emil would stumble and trip on each one, not expecting them to be there since he wasn’t looking._

_Michele and Sara spent the rest of the day, and most of the next day, trying to get Emil to react. Mostly they just sat with him, getting ever more desperate the longer it went on. Michele started to panic. Emil couldn’t leave him like this. Not when he had finally stopped feeling so alone. The more Michele paced and flitted about the flat anxiously, the worse Emil seemed to get. He looked more vacant, less aware. Less Emil. After a good talking to by Sara (seriously, she was such a rock for his emotional states sometimes) he finally calmed in the early evening. He gently moved Emil’s legs apart and knelt between them, cupping Emil’s face. He took a deep breath and looked into those beautiful blue eyes._

_“It’s okay, Emil. I’m here. Come back to me soon.” He felt his eyes sting with tears. He refused to let them fall. He had to get Emil back. He saw a flicker of awareness in Emil’s face. What was Emil hiding from? Noa’s death? Alessandro? How much had he seen? “Hey. You’re okay. You’re with me. He’s not here. You don’t have to hide anymore.”_

_When Emil’s hand touched his, he felt a wave of hope and relief. That was when he knew for sure that Emil was coming back to him._

_But of course, it wasn’t that easy. He wanted to go with Emil to Dylan’s house, but Emil wouldn’t let him. At that moment, he thought he might lose Emil after all. The teen seemed to think this was all or nothing. He thought that if Dylan continued to accuse him, told him it was his fault, told him to give up, told him he’d never get a happy ending… then he would simply give up. He would let the grief overwhelm him and wait to die. Michele thought that was stupid. Emil was tired, hungry, not thinking straight. But maybe Michele was underestimating how close Emil and Noa had been. After calling Wolfram to update him, Michele sat to wait._

_He jumped when the buzzer went. When he heard Emil’s voice he flew down the stairs and embraced him, never wanting to let go ever again. He was sick and tired of almost losing Emil – both physically, when he was hurt, and mentally, like now… and – also, losing their relationship. It had been so strained recently, but when they huddled together on that armchair, he felt those frayed strings pull back together, stronger than ever._

It still felt like that now, the morning after. He felt more in love than ever before, because his boyfriend had finally pushed his fear aside. For himself, and for Michele.

 

“You’re staring.” Emil teased. He rested his chin on Michele’s shoulder. The beard tickled.

 

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re gorgeous.” Michele muttered, still half stuck in memories. He didn’t want to get up, but they had things to do. He rolled out of bed and went to get some coffee going. Sara wasn’t in. She had left a note, stating that she had gone to practice and that she’d tell their coach that he was ill. He frowned – he hoped she would be okay on her own – and started on the coffee. He sensed Emil coming up behind to hug him, so he turned and pressed a cup of coffee into Emil’s hands to halt him.

 

“Sit. You need to eat.”

 

Emil pouted like a puppy deprived of pats. Michele thought it was adorable but he kissed Emil’s cheek and didn’t relent. As Emil sat with his coffee, Michele cooked a huge breakfast. It was mostly Italian food, the pastries he usually made – cornetto and crostata, and bread – fette biscottate, specifically. But he’d also done a little research on what Czech people liked to eat for breakfast. Sausages, buchty, eggs, eggs, and more eggs. Michele glanced back at Emil and wondered if this was going to become the new normal, after all of this was over. The thought made his cheeks warm.

 

When the feast was lain out in full, Emil seemed to suddenly realise how hungry he was. Most of the food disappeared into Emil. Michele watched, fascinated and pleased that his food was being appreciated – and that Emil was finally refilling after five days with almost no food.

 

When they were showered and dressed, they stood together in the living room, looking at the door.

 

“I’m coming with you.” He took Emil’s hand. His tone left no room for discussion. He had let Emil leave this flat alone too many times already. Never again.

 

“You might get hurt.” Emil replied with a soft voice. Michele nodded.

 

“I know.”

 

They left and walked together side-by-side, closely, their fingers still laced together. They didn’t care who stared. When they reached the bar, he pulled Emil inside before they could lose their nerve. It was cramped and dark inside, but quiet. The only person in the room was the barmaid, a short woman with ginger hair. Emil pulled Michele over.

 

“Yer back.” She looked surprised. “With company.”

 

“This is Mickey.” Emil explained. Her eyes lit up and she smirked.

 

“Ach. The infamous Mickey. Ah’ve heard a lot about ye. Ah’m Aila. What’re ye doin’ here?”

 

Right. They weren’t going to mention Noa. Aila looked tired, and her smirk didn’t reach her eyes.

 

“I’m leaving,” Emil rubbed his chin nervously. “like, forever. It’s complicated, but I’m not coming back.”

 

Aila blinked a few times. “Huh. Good fer you. Ye finally grew some balls. So this is goodbye?” She poured a shot of vodka and handed it to Emil, then poured herself a shot of whiskey.

 

“…Yes. You’ve been a good friend, Aila. Thank you.” Emil smiled tearfully. Aila rolled her eyes.

 

“Dinnae get sappy with me, Lab. Go live yer damn life. Good luck, ye eejit.” She snorted and they clinked their glasses together before downing the alcohol. No more words were said. Nothing more was needed between them. Emil pulled Mickey up the narrow staircase. They came out onto a hallway with many doors on either side. One of the doors halfway down was crossed off with yellow tape. He noticed Emil shiver, and held his hand tighter. They went into a door nearby. Inside was Emil’s room. It was small, the carpet threadbare and the paint peeling from the walls. Emil pulled a small suitcase out from under the bed and started to pack up the very few personal items in the room. A few clothes were dragged from a dresser, a few photos were pulled out of hidden places behind furniture, and the little toy dog Michele had bought him was taken down from the windowsill. After a quick visit to the bathroom for his toothbrush and shower things, Emil zipped up the suitcase. He paused when he saw the bed. Neither of them had noticed until now, but sitting on the bed was an old CD player and a book of CDs.

 

“It’s Noa’s.” Emil frowned and picked it up. His eyes watered. “She said once th-that she would give it to me someday…”

 

Michele went over and wrapped his arms around Emil. They took a few moments to mourn their lost friend, before they had to separate. This place was too dangerous to stall. At any moment, they coul-

 

“Going somewhere?”

 

The two of them froze and then turned. In the doorway was a man Michele didn’t recognise. It couldn’t be Alessandro, though, because the accent wasn’t Italian. That only left…

 

“Desislav.” Michele said. He shifted in front of Emil, who put a hand on his shoulder and stepped up next to him. They had talked about Desislav before. Not in great detail, but enough.

 

“My reputation precedes me.” Desi laughed. He was taller than both of them. “How surprising. I thought Emil wouldn’t tell you anything about me. He’s usually so easily embarrassed. Has he told you what a good boy he was for me when he first came here? He has such lovely moans. Of course, his screams are nice too. Have you seen the cigarette burns I left? Beautiful. You could never compa-“

 

Desislav was abruptly cut off by Michele’s fist in his disgusting face. He felt the snap and pop of bones breaking under his fist, and the primal satisfaction of violence. Blood gushed from Desi’s nose as he staggered back. It didn’t take him long to recover, and before Michele knew it he was pinned to the wall by a large hand on his neck. It began to cut off his airway. Desi looked like a man possessed – eyes wild, blood pouring down his face to drip onto his shirt.

 

Michele gasped for air. His vision blurred, but with his last breaths he pushed out words.

 

“You… can’t… ha…have… him…!”

 

Then suddenly the pressure was gone and air poured into his lungs. He slid to the ground, clutching his bruised neck and gasping. He looked up to find Emil and Desi fighting. Desi landed a hard kick to Emil’s side, but Emil grabbed the leg and pulled. When Desi went down, Emil landed on top and flipped him onto his front, taking the older man’s arm and twisting it behind his back. Desi began to scream but Emil didn’t stop until a loud pop echoed through the room. Michele looked cautiously up to Emil’s face.

 

Emil was panting, his eyes wide and unfocused – but determined, and maybe a little wild. He must’ve had some form of self-defence training, to react so quickly. Now that he could finally fight back, he wasn’t holding off. But Emil wasn’t the kind of man to revel in the pain of others, and he frowned when Desi’s shoulder dislocated.

 

“I’m not going to apologise.” Emil mumbled. “With almost anyone else, I would, but you…” his expression suddenly darkened. “…you hurt Mickey. You hurt so many people. You hurt… me.” His shoulders shook. Michele could almost see the round cigarette burn scars, under the shirt. “I was just a kid. How could you…? And, Mickey, you hurt…” He leaned back, his eye going ever more vacant. Desi was in too much pain to move. Michele stood and pulled Emil to his feet.

 

“Come on.” His voice was raspy from being choked. He leaned up to kiss Emil. “I’m okay. Let’s just go, before he can get up.”

 

Emil nodded slowly. They picked up his things – including the CD player and disks – and hurried down the stairs. They could hear Desi cursing above them, and barely glanced at Aila as they left into the sunshine of a bright autumn day.

 

For a long moment they stood together in silence, looking up at the sky. The weather felt like a blessing, a sign that they were doing the right thing. Then they heard Desi again, and hurried off back to the flat. On the way up in the lift, Michele’s phone rang. Soňa.

 

“Hello?” He answered.

 

“Are you in private?” Sona asked on the other end. Michele opened the door to the flat and waited until the door was locked behind them to reply. He put her on speaker.

 

“Yes. Go on. You’re on speaker. Emil’s here.”

 

“You’re both moving to Prague. Now.”

 

Michele and Emil blinked at each other.

 

“By ‘now’ you mean…?” Michele started.

 

“Yes, I mean _now._ Sara too. Pack up some basics. It won’t be forever, but we need to go.”

 

Michele and Emil jumped when someone unlocked the front door, but it was just Sara. Michele grit his teeth.

 

“Why does Sara have to come, too? This isn’t her problem. It has nothing to do with her!” He started to pace. He glanced at Sara, who looked startled. Emil watched silently.

 

“When Emmy comes to Prague and starts this, you’ll all be in danger. Father will ask the Rossis where Emmy is, and the Rossis know where you live. We’ll bring over your coach and get to access to Emmy’s old rink. It’ll only be for a few weeks.”

 

Michele glanced at Emil, who stared back with an open, guilty look. He looked at Sara, who nodded back. Her eyes lingered on the bruise coming up on Michele's neck.

 

“Fine. We’ll pack.”

 

“I’ll be there in an hour. Be ready. Leave behind anything you don’t need. We’ll get you anything you need when we get to Prague. Sara, your neighbour Mrs Esposito is taking your cat in until you come back. See you soon.” She hung up. Michele put his phone away and turned on Emil.

 

“Don’t feel guilty. It’s only for now. It’ll be fun. We’ll get to meet your family.” He smirked, and then added: “…’Emmy?’”

 

An adorable blush spread over Emil’s face.

 

“Some of my family call me that. Or Em. Anyway, are you really both okay with this?” He looked from Sara to Michele and back again. Sara smiled encouragingly.

 

“It’s a bit sudden, but I don’t mind. It’s like a surprise holiday! Ah, except our coach is coming too, and we’ll have a rink, so we won’t fall behind on practice. I’ll go pack.”

 

By the time Soňa arrived an hour later, they had finished packing. Essentials only, which meant the twins packed their skating stuff and clothes. They forewent the toiletries such as shampoo and shaving equipment, assuming that could be provided. Emil insisted his family would get them anything they needed. After all, it was the fault of the Nekolas that the Crispino twins were now in danger.

 

Half an hour later they were at the airport. Michele felt dizzy. Just a few hours ago he was waking up in his own flat, in his own bed, with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. Now he was boarding a plane to another country.

 

But as he stared at the planes on the runway, all going to faraway places hundreds of miles away, he only had one thought. 

 

For Emil, he'd go anywhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek. This update is pretty late. But I did warn you! Most of my assignments are now over and done with, so I'm getting back into the swing of things. If any of you missed it, I also posted a new Mickey/Emil fanfic, 'No Love, No Hope, No Glory'. Go check it out if you haven't already! It was going to be a one shot, but now will have a part two thanks to the amazing response it received.  
> This chapter was originally going to be much, much longer. So much so that it got way too long. I'm talking like it was going over 7000 words because I got way too into Emil's family. So I decided I'd cut it into two chapters. That means this chapter is... well, it's maybe a little bland. All the meet-the-family stuff happens in the next chapter. But since I already wrote most of that chapter, it shouldn't be long before the next update. Unless I get murdered on the date I've got on saturday. If I get murdered I'll... let you know from beyond the grave?  
> Thanks again for all the lovely comments!


	19. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Michele quickly came to the conclusion that Emil was literally the worst at long-distance travel. Like the excitable puppy he was, Emil fidgeted in his seat. He couldn’t keep still. Michele tried to take a nap, but Emil was so distracting – alternating between bouncing overexcitement and jittering nerves. Soňa got up from her seat on Emil’s other side and went to sit elsewhere after Emil asked her the same question five times. Michele didn’t know what was being asked, since Emil was speaking Czech. The flight attendant told Soňa to move back but walked off quickly at the ‘shut up or die’ glare she gave him. Emil turned his attention to Michele – Sara was giggling on Michele’s other side – forcing him into several painful hours of eye-spy and various other travel games.

 

Michele thanked every God and Goddess he could think of that it was a short flight. He knew Emil was nervous but two hours of inescapable high-strung teenager was too much even for him. He put his hand on Emil’s knee as they approached the airport in Prague.

 

“Calm down, Emil. I know you’re nervous. Soňa and the others have it all under control.” He tried to make his voice calming and low. It didn’t help much.

 

“What if they don’t like how I’ve changed? Or they won’t talk to me? What if they think I’m disgraceful, or dirty? What if they think I’m only there as this ‘third son’ rather than…” Emil’s fingers ran along the string of his eyepatch. “…What if they don’t accept me back as ‘Emil’?”

 

Michele’s throat constricted. He hadn’t thought about how Emil’s family would react to him. He’d been away for so long.

 

“…I can’t give you any guarantees.” Next to them, Sara politely pretended she wasn’t listening. “But Soňa accepted you back fine. Your mum was very concerned about you, when we spoke on the phone. If there are members of your family who put you down because of what you had to do… because of a decision _your family_ made… then they don’t fucking deserve you, Emil.” A wave of anger came up and he gripped Emil’s knee tighter. “You’ll always have me.”

 

Emil looked stunned for a second before he smiled brightly. The plane’s wheels hit the runway.

 

“You’re so sweet, Mickey~” He looked around to check nobody was watching and then leaned in to kiss Michele. He whispered against the Italian man’s lips, voice low and rumbling. “You’ll always have me, too. You’ll never be alone again, Mickey. Not if I’m around.”

 

Michele felt his face heat up as they unbuckled their seatbelts and stood. Emil had tugged on a deep-seated insecurity. Michele felt lonely a lot – but hadn’t felt that way nearly as much since Emil sauntered into his life. He hoped Emil was telling the truth.

 

“By the way,” Emil suddenly spoke up as they left the plane. He glanced at Soňa, who smirked. “My family are… unusual. Try not to be offended. Some of them are a bit rough, some are more… eccentric.”

 

Looking at Soňa, Michele decided he didn’t doubt that. And considering the number of family members he had to meet (was it one sister and two brothers or two sisters and one brother? And that wasn’t even counting those on Emil’s father’s side of the family conflict – two more brothers) he would be surprised if there weren’t a few oddballs among them.

 

After they got out of the airport, Soňa led them to a car. Emil sat in the front, with Michele and Sara in the back.

 

“Buckle up, buttercups.” Soňa lit a cigarette and pulled out of the carpark. Michele was glad he took the advice, because Soňa was almost as bad a driver as he was. Emil seemed to be enjoying himself, grinning every time they sped around a corner or _almost died._ His smile dimmed a little as they slowed to a halt in a car park next to a block of flats.

 

“It’s not what I was expecting.” Michele admitted, looking up at the building. It was as ordinary and as middle class as you could possibly find. It was exactly the same as all the other buildings around it, in the outskirts of the city. Soňa chuckled.

 

“It’s temporary. The main house is in the countryside. Father and Bohumir are occupying it right now. We snuck mum out here last night.”

 

The three youngsters retrieved their luggage from the boot of the car and joined Sona at the entrance. She gave them each a card key.

 

“Only you two and the Nekolas on our side have these. _Don’t_ lose them.” She said as she opened the door with her card key. Michele followed her in, and looked back to find Emil frozen in the door. He took Emil’s hand and pulled him inside and onto the lift with the others.

 

“Don’t worry.” He whispered into Emil’s ear. The two women exchanged smiles at their closeness. A sudden thought occurred.

 

“Did you tell Mrs Nekola about… us?” He asked Soňa. Mrs Nekola knew Emil had a crush on Michele, but he hadn’t mentioned how much he loved Emil in return – or their blossoming relationship. Soňa lit up another cigarette as they stepped off the lift.

 

“Yeah. I don’t keep shit from my mother. Even if it’s someone else’s shit. And you should call her Marika, she hates being called Mrs Nekola.” She led the way down the corridor, to a door like all the others. She knocked. “Don’t be scared. She figured with that many kids at least one would turn out gay.”

 

Both Emil and Michele blushed. They kept holding hands, and shared a nervous glance. Behind that door was a mother, a dream, a memory, a lost past, hope. A future mother-in-law?

 

They walked in slowly when the door opened, like a funeral march, feeling like lambs to the slaughter.

 

Michele was expecting a small, elderly woman, maybe hunched with sharp eyes – like Soňa – and a cup of tea. But Marika Nekola was tall like her children, with long legs and an easy smile. Unlike Emil and Soňa, her eyes were green, but they were kind – soft like Emil’s. He knew she was 65, but just as Soňa didn’t look a day over 35, Marika didn’t look a day over 50. Her blonde hair – much lighter than Emil and Sona’s – was only just beginning to be touched by glittering silver strands. When she stood to greet them, he estimated her at 5’8.

 

“Máma…” Emil approached slowly, tearfully, his arms out in a hesitant plea for contact. For comfort.

 

“Pojď sem, Em!” She bridged the gap between them and Emil folded into her arms, his face in her shoulder, like he was a tiny child once more. She held him tight in return, her eyes shining, one hand threaded in his hair and the other clenched desperately in the back of his shirt.

 

Eventually she pulled back to look at his face. She wiped her tears, and then wiped his, too. She removed the eyepatch gently, smoothing her thumb over the raised scars.

 

“Můj chudák Em…” Her voice was almost a whisper. Michele struggled to translate. ‘ _Poor little Em’_ , was that? She looked at him like he was a soldier returning from war. “Jsi tak unavená. Co ti udělali?” _You’re so tired. What have they done to you?_

Emil just shook his head and hugged her again. When they broke apart, Marika turned her attention to Michele. She moved towards him surprisingly fast, and enveloped him in a warm hug. Sara looked amused. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“Thank you.” Marika whispered in Italian. Then, louder: “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

 

“It wasn’t just me.” Michele wrapped his arms around her, thinking about Sara. Without Sara, he would never have had the courage to help Emil. He thought about Noa, who had died to give Emil the courage to help himself.

 

“Ugh. Can we not speak languages I don’t understand? I won’t know what the fuck’s going on.” A new voice interrupted the sweet moment, rudely barging into the peace. Michele looked over at the new figure. Or rather, figures. Three of them. The man who’d spoken came in first. It was like Michele was looking at Emil, fifteen or so years in the future. He was almost a carbon copy, beard and all – though, when Michele looked closer, he saw the man’s eyes were green like Marika’s. But it seemed the man’s personality was more in line with someone like Yuri Plisetsky.

 

“You’re fucking lucky as it is that we agreed to be speaking English for you two.” He waved a hand at Michele and Sara. “You’re not even supposed to be here! Two prissy _skaters_ here with all us people doing actual _work_.”

 

He was much taller than Michele, and taller than Emil, too. He came over and looked down at Michele, a dangerous look in his eyes. His voice was low, and only Michele could hear.

 

“I’m grateful you brought back my brother. Fuck, I never thought I’d miss a brat like him. But if you dare hurt him… break his heart, give him bruises… they’ll never even find your body. Got that, Mr Knight?”

 

Michele almost took a step back, but he managed to stand his ground. He swallowed and nodded quickly. He couldn’t keep the fear from his face, and the man laughed loudly.

 

“Ha! Loser. I’m Alexandr by the way.” Alexandr stuck out his hand and Michele shook it nervously. Emil looked mortified. “I’m the third oldest, after Bohumir and Soňa.”

 

Alexandr then slung an arm around Emil’s shoulders and ruffled his hair.

 

“And here’s my littlest bro~” He laughed loudly, again. Emil staggered a bit. “Fuck, you trying to look like me with that beard? Hey, you’re legal now, right? We can go drinking~”

 

“You forced me to go drinking with you even when I _wasn’t_ legal. I was fourteen, you bastard!” Emil chuckled. Michele guessed this was their way of saying ‘I missed you’.

 

Whilst Alexandr and Emil were catching up – Alexandr had a 5-year-old son, apparently, and was showing Emil the pictures – one of the women of the new group introduced herself to Michele and Sara. She looked about twenty-five, but Michele knew she was older. She was shorter than the others, maybe 5’6, and her long hair was medium brown. Her eyes were blue, but the pupil of each was cloudy. She reached out and touched Michele’s chest, her eyes staring at nothing.

 

“Hmm. Michele, yes?” She trailed her hand up his body and felt his face. He was about to insist she stop touching him, but he suddenly realised why she was doing it. She was blind. She ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Oh, you are a handsome one. Are you sure you don’t want to share, Em?” She turned her face in the general direction of Emil and Alexandr. Emil pouted.

 

“I’m sure, Pavla. Stop perving on my boyfriend and come hug me!” Emil tugged her into a hug and they both laughed. When Pavla reached up to touch Emil’s face, he flinched. Her face slowly warped into a worried frown. Her light fingers traced the beard, and then the scars. The bump in Emil’s nose, where it had been broken more than once. She leaned up and pressed their foreheads together. Michele had to strain to hear what she said.

 

“Promiňte.” _Sorry._ Emil shook his head and pulled her back into a hug. That's when Michele realised that Emil held no grudges against his family. Any anger had left him long ago. Forgiveness had come to him sometime over the last few terrible years. Michele wasn't surprised. Emil was just... like that.

The final newcomer in the room, meanwhile, was completely focused on _Sara_. He was fawning over her. Out of all the siblings, he looked the least like Emil. His hair was blond and long, tied in a ponytail, and his eyes were green, so he looked a lot like Marika. He stood only a little taller than Emil, though, and there was an easiness to his smile that was similar. The similarities stopped there, as the man also wore a pair of thin glasses. He was, Michele would guess, between Alexandr and Pavla in age. And he was currently attempting to woo Sara.

 

“Ah~! Such a beautiful and graceful woman as you should not be stuck in a place like this!” The man even managed to look _tearful_. And he was speaking Italian, to boot. “I am deeply sorry for the inconvenience our family has caused you. Perhaps, in return, I could treat you to dinner~?” He picked up Sara’s hand and kissed it. Sara looked amused, but Michele interrupted before she could say anything.

 

“Like hell she will!” He took the man’s hand and yanked it away, glaring. “A man like you isn’t worthy of Sara’s love!”

 

The man looked offended. He put a hand to his chest like Michele had punched him. He switched back to English.

 

“How rude! Sara, my dear, how is it that a woman as wonderful as you has a brother so… uncouth?” He shook his head in despair. Michele didn’t know what ‘uncouth’ meant, but he assumed it wasn’t anything nice. Sara laughed.

 

“You’ve only just met me, you have no idea how wonderful I am.” Sara shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe this was really happening. Michele stepped between them, his hands on his hips. He was not happy with the way that all of the Nekola men towered over him. He felt like a hobbit, or a dwarf, among elves. He wasn’t even short! Nekola men (and women) were just freakishly tall!

 

“Dammit, Jarek, when Soňa said you got married, I assumed that meant you’d stop being like this!” Emil laughed and pulled the man – Jarek – back by the shoulder. The move jilted Jarek’s glasses, and he huffed before pushing them back into place.

 

“Just because I am married doesn’t mean I can’t still appreciate the beauty of a lovely woman.” Jarek sniffed. Then he stared at Emil for a few long moments. He studied Emil’s face, looked him up and down, let his eyes assess everything from the scars to the clothes Emil wore. Eventually, he nodded. “We’ve got good genes, bratříček. A little scaring is nothing. Women appreciate the rugged look.” He glanced at Michele. “…Or men.” Then he suddenly threw his arms around Emil and started to cry. “Chyběl jsi mi! Chyběl jsi mi tak moc!” _I missed you. I missed you so much._

Emil sniffed and squeezed Jarek tight.

 

“Y-You know, they say it’s the gay one who’s supposed to be dramatic, but here you are, crying in my arms.” He teased. Jarek pulled back to smile and wipe his tears. He winked.

 

“Do I get a bisexual pass?” He asked. This was apparently some kind of in joke. The two brothers laughed.

 

Michele took a step back to stand next to Sara, and watch the family reunite and catch up. The twins glanced at each other and smiled.

 

“I never thought I’d say this… but it looks like Emil might be the normal one.” Sara pointed out. “The most normal, at least.”

 

“I think you might be right.” Michele ran a hand through his hair. The scene was emotional. He tried to imagine being separated from Sara for years, knowing she was being hurt – or Michele being hurt, and knowing she couldn’t come see him. It was clear that Emil wasn’t as close to his siblings as he was to Sara (that would be… difficult, considering how close the twins were) but they had all missed each other a lot. An underlying feeling of guilt permeated the conversations taking place.

 

“Alright, everyone.” Soňa spoke above them all. They all quietened and looked at her. Even though she was a woman, she held herself with more authority than the rest of the room combined. She smirked. “…Pizza time.”

 

Alexandr cheered and punched the air. He was about thirty-five but his ability to act like a 20-year-old student was impressive. It reminded him of Emil, who could be childish when he wanted to be.

 

Half an hour later they were sitting around the long table in the apartment, pizza boxes scattered in front of them. It wasn’t nearly as good as Italian pizza, but Michele didn’t mind. The company was good enough to make up for the slightly sad pizza. Alexandr was… vulgar, and offensive, and loved the word ‘fuck’. He seemed like the type of person to be reckless. Jarek was still flirting with Sara, and Michele was still yelling at him for it, but it was more like teasing than anything serious. Jarek was married, and had no real intention of dating anyone. He was a romantic gentleman. Even though he was bisexual, he didn’t have the same approach to men at all. He didn’t attempt to flirt with Michele, but he wondered if that was more because of Emil. Pavla, on the other hand, had no qualms about flirting with Michele. She was sweeter and less brash than Soňa, but every so often she would slip in an innuendo or an outright dirty line, or cheerfully mention torture. Discussion quickly turned to the plans for the other half of the Nekola family – Othmar Nekola, Bohumir Nekola, and Zikmund Nekola. Michele tuned the conversation out. He didn’t need to know.

 

“After this, we’re going to sign it. Then you can all go sleep.” Marika wiped her hands on a towel. She wasn’t above eating pizza with her hands, but she obviously didn’t enjoy the feeling of greasy hands.

 

“Sign what?” Sara whispered to Emil. Pavla heard despite the whisper, and answered.

 

“The letter. It’s a declaration of war, in a way. A leadership bid. The rest of us sign, to declare that we support Soňa taking over the family. Then we crush them all! Break their bones and send bullets through their soft brains.” She smiled brightly. It was like someone had taken Emil’s smile and put it in a blender. Essentially the same smile, but twisted. Michele looked around the table and wondered how many of the people in the room had ever killed someone. He decided… all of them, except Emil and the Crispinos.

 

The pizza boxes were cleared away. They all cleaned up and then gathered around the table once more. The letter was handwritten, probably by Soňa. One by one, they all started to sign the end of the letter. Oldest to youngest. Marika stepped up first. She looked around at her children, and the Crispinos in the corner, and signed the letter with a firm hand. She handed the pen to Soňa, who didn’t hesitate. She signed and passed the pen to Alexandr. He rolled his shoulders like he was going into battle, and stared at the letter like it was an enemy. He signed slowly and then stepped back. Jarek took the pen next. He glanced at his mother, at Soňa, and then at Emil. He signed with a dramatic flourish and a weary sigh. He passed the pen off to Pavla. She felt down the page with her other hand and found where Jarek had signed. She signed under it with a cold smile. She held the pen out to her left, where Emil stood. It took him a few moments, but eventually he took it.

 

He glanced at Michele, as if asking for permission. As if asking if it was really okay. Michele smiled back. Emil put the pen to the page and signed. The room let out a collective sigh of relief.

 

“This will be delivered tomorrow. Be ready.” Sona lit a cigarette and nodded to Jarek. “Jarek, show Emil and the Crispinos to their flat.” She smiled at them. “Sleep well.”

 

Jarek took them out of the flat and down the hall to another flat. It was smaller, impersonal. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and an open kitchen with a breakfast bar. After Jarek bid them a goodnight and left, Sara called their coach, who was being housed (and was very confused) down the street. They arranged to meet at the rink the next day.

 

That night, Emil and Michele huddled together in bed, their arms and legs tangled up.

 

“I warned you my family was weird.” Emil whispered. Michele laughed softly.

 

“You weren’t lying. They’re… interesting.”

 

They were silent for a few seconds, soaking up each other’s warmth.

 

“I’m back with my family now. But it’s not over. It’s only just begun.” Emil put his chin on Michele’s head and Michele nuzzled into his collarbone in response.

 

“But it will be over soon. And then you can really go home. Back with your mum, or you could get an apartment here.” His heart clenched as he said it. The Czech Republic felt a million miles from Italy. Emil made a thoughtful sound.

 

“No… I don’t think that’s right. ‘Home’ isn’t Prague, or the Czech Republic. It’s not the manor house where I grew up. It’s not with my mum, or my siblings. It’s not even the rink I used to skate at.” He pulled back to look at Michele and – God, those eyes, so blue and so earnest. “It’s wherever _you_ are.”

 

And Michele, overwhelmed by a rush of love, could do nothing but kiss Emil hard enough to bruise his lips.

 

It was the calm before the storm. Even then, laid in bed together, they could see that nearby storm. It manifested on the horizon ahead, the horizon of their fears and desires for the future. They stood together to face it. Determination and hope hardened their nerves.

 

But sometimes determination isn’t enough.

 

Hope can’t stop bullets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you the next update would be quick, haha. I took a few liberties with this chapter... for example, it seems you actually can't get a non-stop flight from Turin to Prague. All the flights stop over in either France or Germany, so I had to do a bit of maths to work out how long a non-stop flight would be. This chapter and the last chapter were originally the same chapter but I had to split them up.   
> I had to change the order of a lot of chapters, but by my calculations, there should be... 5 or 6 more chapters, and probably an epilogue. I hope you all enjoyed the Nekolas! I tried to make them very different to each other and distinct, to help people remember who's who. I was originally also going to include Emil's nieces and nephews, but that would have made the chapter way too crowded. Maybe they'll appear eventually.   
> Special shout-out to Thekillerduckie, my most vocal fan! I probably wouldn't still be writing this without your support. I've been feeling really down lately so it's always awesome to see your comments. And everyone else's comments, of course!  
> Next chapter will have lots of drama and action, finally! It's time for the Rostelecom Cup, and one of the other skaters might just turn out to have a background just as shady as Emil's ;)   
> No idea when the next update will be. I've got an assignment due the 7th, so sometime after that most likely although since the next chapter will probably be long and hard to write (action is difficult!) it might take a week or so. Thanks again to all my lovely readers, kudos'ers and commenters!


	20. Shadows at the Rostelecom Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I learned that the world didn't see the inside of you, that it didn't care a whit about the hopes and dreams, and sorrows, that lay masked by skin and bone. It was as simple, as absurd, and as cruel as that.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

For the next three weeks, the twins and Emil only left the flat to go to the rink. They heard updates of progress from Jarek. They rarely saw Soňa, who was busy organising various murders and takeovers. They had taken Othmar, Bohumir and Zikmund by surprise. They evidently hadn’t expected Emil to ever return. Retaliation from those older Nekolas had been somewhat panicked and disorganised. Soňa had secured half of the supply routes she was aiming for, and had assassinated three of the ten people she needed dead. They were quiet deaths. Poison. Nothing dramatic like a car bomb or a bullet through the head. Soňa wasn’t playing that sort of game.

 

Emil kept Mickey and Sara from hearing about those things. It would scare them. Make it all too real. They would realise they really were surrounded by murderers. It didn’t bother Emil, who had grown up in this world. He’d never wanted to kill anyone, not even his worst enemy, but he understood his family were different. People were expendable and murder was a means to an end. The Crispinos didn’t think the same way, and Emil knew he would frighten them if they knew exactly what his family was doing. Here, in this block of flats, they were removed. Safe.

 

October rolled slowly into November. He accompanied (along with a bodyguard) the twins to the rink every day. His first visit had been full of nostalgia, sadness and regret. He skated on the other end of the rink to the Crispinos. He wanted to give them space to work without distraction. He wanted his own space to skate, alone with his thoughts. He started thinking up routines in his head. He didn’t pretend he was still that innocent young teenager, whose routines had usually been upbeat and showy. These routines were different. One routine was robotic, cold, and for this he channelled the hopeless feelings he’d had when he first went back to work after his injures had healed.

 

He tried to skate the empty feeling he had experienced when he’d seen Noa’s body. He couldn’t do it without breaking down. After the third try of Mickey having to come over to pick him up from his knees and dry his tears, he stopped trying.

 

Emil was much more successful skating about Mickey. When his movements were fuelled by his love for Mickey, he could do anything. He nailed every jump.

 

But, hell, his body hurt. He wasn’t used to this kind of daily activity. It made him feel so sore he could barely move in the morning. He found that being blind in one eye threw off his balance, too, and it took time for him to adjust. In the meantime he got a lot of bruises. But it made him happy. He was where he was supposed to be. Skating felt _right_. He hoped he could go back to it after all of this was over, even if just as a hobby.

 

As October changed to November (with a bizarre Halloween involving a vampire costume and Pavla’s underwear) they edged closer to the Rostelecom Cup. The day before Mickey and Sara were due to fly to Russia, Mickey and Emil stood across from each other, the bed and open suitcase between them. Emil felt a rush of warmth when he saw that Mickey had packed the little plush dog Emil got him for his birthday. It had been very last minute. Mickey hadn’t told Emil that his birthday was coming up. It was only by chance that Sara mentioned it, way back in September. Mickey and Sara’s birthday had fallen in that awkward period between the argument they’d had when Soňa visited to try to convince Emil of the plan, and Mickey’s departure for the NHK Trophy event. So their relationship at the time had been a little strained. Still, Emil wanted to get something for him and Sara. He’d pooled together the tiny amount of money he owned and went to a toy store. He’d found the section where Mickey had bought the Czechoslovakian Wolfdog and browsed the Italian dog breeds.

 

Emil settled on a Bolognese dog for Sara. Small, cute, friendly, earnest, intelligent, loyal, playful but not hyperactive. Mickey was a lot harder to buy for. He needed a loyal dog… a guard dog, maybe, but a cute one. His hand landed on the Italian Shepherd. Intelligent, wary of strangers, and a tenacious guardian of property and livestock.

 

Mickey’s face had been conflicted when he’d opened the gift. He clearly appreciated and loved it, but it probably reminded him of their relationship in a way that pointed out the strains it was under at the time. To Emil, it was more of a promise that even if they parted ways, they would still be thinking about each other. So when Mickey packed the little toy dog as an _essential_ for going to a competition, to remind him of Emil, Emil’s heart felt warm.

 

They had been working to pack Mickey’s suitcase in comfortable silence for an hour or so before Mickey suddenly spoke up.

 

“Come with me.” His eyes were earnest. Not quite begging, but nearly there. Emil blinked once. Twice.

 

“I have to stay here, Mickey. I’m a target. I might get you hurt. Besides, you don’t need me there for you to do awesome.” He chuckled, softly, as if the idea of Mickey needing him were ridiculous. Mickey scowled (pouted, really, and it was really cute) and crawled across the bed between them. He knelt on it, in front of Emil. Emil tried not to let the blood rush south at the position. Mickey took Emil’s hands and looked up at him.

 

“I do. I do need you there. I can’t skate those programmes without you.”

 

It was so honest that Emil had no choice but to believe him. And if Mickey needed him, he had to be there. He nodded dumbly before he found his voice.

 

“Okay.”

 

The week after, Emil found himself on the plane to Russia. Mickey was on his left, with Sara next to Mickey. To his right were Pavla and a muttering Alexandr. His siblings were there to talk to a Russian family about a possible deal.

 

“Fucking kids… waste of time… better things to do than fucking babysit…”

 

Emil found himself smiling. He’d missed Alexandr’s brash nature. He’d missed all his siblings, and their quirks. Even the two on his father’s side. Zikmund was a bully, and he’d made Emil’s childhood hell, but they’d had a few nice moments too. Enough that Emil wanted to see him again, even if only once, just to… clear the air. Bohumir had been distant throughout Emil’s childhood but he had been kind when they _did_ spend time together. He hoped neither of them died.

 

His father, though… he thought back to the argument he’d had with Mickey, the night Noa died. He didn’t have a single good memory of his father. He hadn’t thought about it until Mickey had confronted him. His father had been nothing but cruel to Emil his whole life. He’d sold Emil off without even blinking. That didn’t mean Emil wanted him dead, but…

 

Unlike the nervous flight from Turin to Prague, Emil sat back and did his best to relax. He wasn’t a nervous flyer but the idea of going to a skating competition again made his stomach flutter. He wasn’t getting stared at as much as he thought he would. He hadn’t put the eyepatch back on once his mother had taken it off. When they touched down in Russia he reached out and held Mickey’s hand. This competition would decide if Mickey got to go to the Grand Prix Final. Mickey didn’t look nervous, but Emil could see the worry in his eyes.

 

“Don’t worry. I know you’ll do great!” Emil said enthusiastically. Mickey smiled back dryly.

 

“I appreciate the support.” He sighed. “But I’m not sure I can beat someone like JJ. The two Yuris have been doing well, too.”

 

Emil frowned and took off his seatbelt as the plane rolled to a halt. Where had this self-doubt come from? He put a finger under Mickey’s chin and tilted his head to look him in the eye.

 

“You’re just as good as any of them. You have a really good chance of qualifying. I’m here for you.” He smiled reassuringly. Mickey smiled back.

 

But in the taxi on the way to the hotel, Mickey brought up what had really been bothering him.

 

“You should be out there with me.” He said lowly, his eyes to the ground. “Not just as support. As a rival. A fellow competitor.” He looked at Emil and shook his head. “All this… should never have happened.”

 

Emil couldn’t reply. He didn’t have anything to say. Neither did Alexandr or Pavla, who had gone quiet the moment Mickey began to talk. Out of guilt, maybe?

 

In the hotel, they piled into a lift.

 

“We should go for a meal tonight.” Emil said, gesturing to himself and the twins. He wanted to spend some time with the Crispinos alone for once. In their flat, they were usually joined by one of the Nekola siblings, and at the rink there was always the coach and the bodyguard. He smiled to himself, thinking about how Mickey had changed. A year ago, Mickey might have screamed at him for asking Sara out for a meal.

 

Sara caught sight of a startled Yuri Katsuki and a stoic Seung-gil at the lift doors and tried to invite them, too. Yuri escaped during the yelling that proceeded from Mickey, at Seung-gil’s casual treatment of Sara. Pavla decided to join in, making inappropriate comments about Seung-gil even though she couldn’t see how handsome (or not) he was. Somehow she always knew from the voice. Emil chuckled. Maybe Mickey hadn’t changed _that_ much.

 

They had an uneventful evening enjoying a meal out. Here, in Moscow, so many miles away from Prague, he felt safe. They were so far removed from the danger that it was like they’d gone to space. Which is something Emil would totally do, now that he thought about it. Space sounded like a lot of fun. And he loved science already. So much exploring to be doing, up there in the stars. He gazed across the table at Mickey, who was excitedly explaining something about a new baking recipe he wanted to try. The Italian man’s eyes lit up as he gestured with his hands exactly how to fold the dough. Nah. Emil didn’t need the stars, he decided. He had everything he wanted right here.

 

Emil also finally had access to his bank account again, so he paid for the meal. There wasn’t a lot of money in it, just the remains of his sponsorship money from skating, but it was something. It was enough. It was a big step in the road towards independence.

 

Emil woke up early the next morning, at the same time as Mickey. He didn’t have to be awake, technically, for a couple of hours, but he didn’t want to let Mickey go through any of this alone. Even though Sara was there, Emil knew Mickey needed him. He promised he wouldn’t let Mickey be lonely again. Breakfast was quiet. Everyone was either too nervous or too tired to talk much. Pavla was half asleep, and Alexandr was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still sleeping. Mickey and Sara’s coach joined them halfway through, but she didn’t say much either other than her usual advice. The older woman had learnt a couple of weeks ago that she shouldn’t ask questions about her forced relocation to Prague. Emil felt bad about it, but it was only temporary.

 

Emil and Mickey didn’t have to part ways until a couple of hours later. Mickey had to get dressed for his Short skate and warm up. Emil wasn’t allowed in those areas. The two of them lingered in an empty corridor, unwilling to let the other go.

 

“Make sure you watch. I need you to… be watching me.” Mickey looked up at Emil, his hands on his hips. “I have to make sure you get my feelings through that thick skull of yours.”

 

Emil laughed and slid his hands over Mickey’s and around his waist. He leaned in close and brushed their lips together.

 

“I’ll be watching. Show me your love, Mickey.”

 

They both stood there, alone together, foreheads connected, breathing each other in.

 

“What you said.” Emil spoke first, suddenly remembering something. “On the plane. When we went to Prague. You said I’d always have you. Did you mean that?”

 

_‘If there are members of your family who put you down because of what you had to do… because of a decision your family made… then they don’t fucking deserve you, Emil. You’ll always have me.’_

 

“Huh?” Mickey didn’t seem happy that the quiet moment had been interrupted. He huffed. “Of course I meant it. What did you think I meant? It was a promise. Just like what you said was a promise, about not letting me be alone.” He opened his eyes and stared, his expression open and raw. “I love you. You’ll always have me. This is forever, if you want it. Now, let me go so I can show you those feelings for real!”

 

Mickey pressed their lips together and waved before he took off, disappearing down the corridor. Emil frowned and put his fingers to his tingling lips. Mickey hadn’t given him chance to respond. He did want this, forever. After the skate, he’d make sure Mickey knew his answer.

 

Emil made his way to his seat, right next to the kiss and cry, at the front. He could see everything from here. Pavla and Alexandr had been curious to see Mickey skate, and were somewhere in the crowd. Sara sat next to him.

 

“I’m really glad you found him, you know.” She said softly as they watched the skaters warm up on the ice. Emil chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Don’t you mean you’re glad he found me?” He said. Emil had been on the verge of giving up before Mickey had walked down that alleyway all those months ago.

 

“I mean both.” Sara paused and smiled, gesturing with her hands. It was a habit Emil had come to expect from Italians. “He needs you as much as you need him. He may have helped you out of a bad situation, but he was close to giving up too, you know? Giving up on ever… having anyone except me.” Her eyes turned sad. Emil leaned back. He knew that. Knew that Mickey didn’t have any friends before Emil came along. Mickey had even become better friends with Chris because of Emil. He’d become friends with Noa, too – _fuck, it still hurt to think about her, would it ever stop hurting?_ – and even some of the Nekola siblings. Somehow or other, somewhere along the way, Emil had brought Mickey out of his shell.

 

“…You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Emil flashed her a genuine, contented smile. “I’m never going to let him be lonely again. I promised.”

 

“I don’t think I’d trust anyone else with that.” Sara admitted. She seemed to be realising that to an extent, she was almost as protective over Mickey as he was over her.

 

“Then I’m glad you trust me.” Emil leaned over and kissed her forehead in a brotherly way. She giggled and ruffled his hair, and for a moment it felt like she was already his sister-in-law.

 

He shook that thought away quickly – _he didn’t want to marry Mickey yet… did he?_ – when the warm-up ended and Seung-gil stepped out to start off the performances. Emil’s eye followed the Korean skater critically. He had enough rotation, but… and there, he didn’t quite… mm, and his interpretation, the stoic face – could use some work. Impressive, though, especially the step sequences. And still… better than what Emil was currently capable of. He would have to train very hard if he ever stood a chance of getting back into skating. It might even be impossible at this point, with the constant abuse his body had gone through over the last few years.

 

Yuri Katsuki was up next. The crowd began to chant Victor’s name, and Emil blushed when he was suddenly given a great angle of Yuri grabbing Victor’s tie and pulling him close. Yep. Definitely in love. He wondered what it would be like… if Mickey coached him. He had to adjust his shirt collar at the thought. Mickey as a teacher...

 

He started paying attention again when Yuri began to skate. Even though Emil had seen this skate a few times, now, Yuri improved each time – and Emil was as spellbound as ever. He hummed and leaned in, with Sara doing the same beside him.

 

“If I were into anyone who isn’t Mickey… I’d be kind-of turned on.” Emil muttered. But _that_ led to him imagining _Mickey_ skating this programme, and he had to look away to rub at the blush on his cheeks. He was snapped back to attention again by the crowd’s standing ovation at Yuri’s flawless performance. He clapped along, impressed.

 

The other Yuri – what was it Katsuki called him? Yurio? Cute! – took to the ice soon after. He was a seething ball of blond rage. It reminded Emil a little of Mickey, and he snorted behind his hand. It was clear from the moment Yurio began to skate that he wasn’t feeling ‘agape’ at all. He fell on the first triple axel and Emil winced in sympathy. The young Russian teen nailed the rest of the routine, though, and Emil ended up feeling a little inadequate. He had been around Yurio’s age when he had to give up skating, and he hadn’t been anywhere near that good.

 

JJ was the next man to take to the ice. He was the last performance before Mickey (and there was a Frenchman skating after Mickey, but Emil only cared about how close he was to seeing Mickey) and Emil found it hard to concentrate on JJ. The Canadian was exceptional (and, he noted with a distant hum, attractive) and Emil was impressed to be sure, but the closer he got to Mickey’s performance the more anxious he became. By the time JJ punched the air in victory and the music ended, Emil had clenched his fists and curled in on himself in an old habit, an attempt to make himself smaller.

 

“Are you okay?” Sara asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched hard and pulled away, staring at her.

 

“Something’s not right.” He whispered. Sara’s eyes softened.

 

“You’re just experiencing second hand nervousness. Mickey and I get it for each other all the time.” She assured him. He sunk lower in his seat and stared at the ice. JJ’s score came up. It would be tough – maybe even impossible – to beat. But Mickey didn’t have to beat it, he just has to come in a high enough spot that he can reach higher from with his next skate, and qualify.

 

Emil’s nerves shrunk a lot when Mickey finally skated onto the ice. The music began, and Mickey locked eyes with Emil. The two of them shared a smile, then Mickey began.

 

It’s the skate which put into movement the things Mickey couldn’t put into words. The intense feelings he had for Emil, the protective instinct, the burning desire to save him. Even touches of helplessness, where he hadn’t been able to do anything to help because of Emil’s own stubbornness. Mickey nails the triple axel, and the quadruple salchow. Emil’s heart was in his mouth. He was leaning out of his seat, unconsciously trying to get closer to Mickey because it’s so different, seeing this skate in real life, directed right at him – Sara gasped, she sensed something in Mickey’s movements, he is about to change a tough combination into a tougher one – and the emotions almost overwhelmed him because he feels the same way, he wanted to save Mickey too, in that lonely alleyway, wanted to help him in any little way he could, and in the end wanted to be with him, forever, and-

 

-and.

 

-and… Emil realises he has been ignoring the feeling in his gut, too distracted by Mickey. He realises, a split second too late – a split second, just that, no more than that, but enough – that the black glint he sees in the crowd, out of the corner of his eye, is a gun. And Emil is out of his seat even before the trigger is pulled.

 

And he’s too late.

 

Chaos and gunfire erupt around him, screaming, panicking, running, but he’s going in the other direction, out onto the ice. He slips, scrambles, fights his way over to the figure lying in the middle, still and silent where he’s fallen.

 

His knees hit the ground, his body folds over Mickey’s instinctively to protect it. His palms hit the ice on either side of Mickey’s head.

 

And then he catches sight of the slowly spreading warm red liquid, pooling out from under Mickey. Time stops. The screaming stops. It's quiet. Mickey’s eyes are closed. Mickey’s voice plays in his head.

 

_‘You’ll always have me.’_

_Mickey… it’s… not nice to lie… you know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.O
> 
> Few notes about this chapter... I realised I made Mickey and Sara's coach a woman early in the fanfic, but having rewatched YOI it turns out his coach is a man. I didn't want to change the continuity of the fic, though, so I kept her a woman. Jeez, I had to re-watch episode 8 so many times for this... I also realised I had completely forgotten about Mickey and Sara's birthday, so I had to add in a bit about that, too. The last little part here changes to present tense. I'm not sure if I like the effect or not... let me know?   
> I've finished the second part of No Hope, No Love, No Glory, too, but I'm going to wait on posting it for a bit... not least because I probably ought to edit it at least a little. And also because I have a habit of putting placeholders in (like [SURNAME] for Victor's surname because I can't spell that shit) and forgetting to replace them. Also because it takes place at Christmas and I want to get further into December! In my family, since my granny's birthday was December 10th, Christmas didn't start until after the 10th. I'm gonna put a cautious upload date of like... the 14th/15th/16th. Around then. Look forward to it! Some parts of that, honestly, are among the best things I've ever written. The next chapter of this will probably be up around the same time. Thanks again to all my wonderful commenters and kudos'ers! You all rock!


	21. Friends in High Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

Blood. There was blood, everywhere. It was on his shirt, staining the knees of his jeans, staining his hands. He didn’t know what was happening. Where was he? Back… there? Was… Alessandro here? Where’s… Noa? Oh – there’s... pain, in his shoulder, and in his head, why… who’s that? It’s Noa, isn’t it? No… no, too tall, too tanned… it’s… it’s… why does nothing… make sense? Why can’t he breathe…?

 

“Oy! You! Stop panicking and get him over here!”

 

Emil’s head snapped to the side to look towards the voice. All at once the sound came rushing back. Screaming and gunfire. He curled around the bloody body underneath him, and with a horrified glance realised it was Mickey. He laid a hand on Mickey’s chest. A heartbeat, weak but steady, thrummed under his fingers. He let out a shaky sigh. Of course. Mickey was too stubborn to go out like this… wasn’t he?

 

“Come on!”

 

He looked again, and saw… was that JJ? The tall Canadian was hiding between the stands, still wearing the outfit from the skate he’d just performed. He was gesturing at Emil to come over. Emil gathered Mickey up and slid carefully across the ice. He left a bloodtrail behind him. Mickey’s blood. He felt sick. He climbed over the barrier and ran to JJ, crouching to help avoid the bullets flying through the air. Once he reached cover, he looked out to see Alexandr and Pavla in a gunfight with some men in the stands on the other side. Alexandr was guiding Pavla, who had a knack for hitting the target when properly directed. The fight was steadily moving towards the doors on the opposite side to Emil and would probably spill out that way. Through the door behind Emil, he could hear more yelling. There were probably men in other parts of the building too. He hoped the other skaters were okay. The stands were empty now. Sara was nowhere to be seen. He really hoped she was okay. He looked down at Mickey, who was gasping with every breath, but still alive. Blood leaked from his lips and his eyes were squeezed closed. The bullet had gone straight through his chest. Had it hit a lung? God, no, Mickey, he couldn’t lose-

 

The door behind them opened. Emil turned his body to angle Mickey away from danger, but it was only Yurio. The teenager’s eyes were wide and scared, but he had come back, right into the danger.

 

“V-Victor’s cleared a pathway. Fucking move!” He spat at them. He held the door open whilst Emil and JJ hurried into the corridor. There were bloodstains all over the place, and dead or dying men. Emil’s blood ran cold. His father’s men. He was frozen. There were so many things here triggering him. He couldn’t afford for that to happen but he couldn’t move, stuck between flashback and reality.

 

“Let me take him.” JJ pushed Emil gently to one side. The corridor was quiet, and the gunfight behind them was muffled by the door. Emil held Mickey closer. JJ’s eyes narrowed. “You’re no help to him right now. You’ve been shot too. I can carry him.”

 

Huh? He’d been shot? Emil blinked a few times and the pain in his shoulder made itself known again. A sharp, lancing pain – he’d had worse. But he had to concede that he couldn’t help Mickey much right now. JJ was stronger. Reluctantly, he passed Mickey to JJ. Mickey groaned but otherwise didn’t respond. JJ’s costume immediately became bloody, and he made a disappointed noise.

 

“You had better live, Crispino, so I can charge you for the dry cleaning…”

 

They started quickly down the corridor. Now they could hear sirens in the distance. Ambulances, and police, probably. Hopefully. There were more people – hiding, or injured, cowering. Emil was focused on Mickey, bleeding in JJ’s arms. He wasn’t paying attention to anyone or anything else. All the lessons he had been taught growing up, about how to deal with this kind of situation, had gone out of the window.

 

That was a huge mistake. He didn’t see the figure coming at him from a side door until he was pinned up against the wall with a gun to his chin. His eyes widened at the cruel smirk plastered across the face of his adversary. A familiar face.

 

“Zikmund…” He gasped. Zikmund hadn’t changed much in the last few years. His hair, the same shade as Emil’s, was shorter. He’d changed his glasses. That was it. The poison in his green eyes hadn’t changed – no, it had, it had gotten worse. Bitter hatred had replaced any love Zikmund had once held for his only younger sibling. Emil stared past Zikmund, to where JJ was standing. The Canadian man finally lost his brave air. He looked scared, clearly wondering if he was about to witness Emil get his face blown off.

 

“Go!” Emil snapped at JJ. “Get him to an ambulance!”

 

JJ hesitated for a few moments, clearly battling between needing to get Mickey help and not wanting to leave Emil behind. Eventually Mickey won out, and JJ hurried off. Zikmund chuckled darkly.

 

“How heroic of you, little brother. It would have been more heroic of you to stop me pulling the trigger in the first place.” He shifted, pressing one hand to Emil’s throat and pressing the gun to the scars over Emil’s eye. Anger flared inside Emil. Zikmund had shot Mickey. “That’s a good look on you. I always knew you were a whore because of how you threw yourself at Crispino as a kid, but now you really look like one. Used.” He pushed the gun against the eye itself and Emil winced. He fought hard to stay in the present. Zikmund wasn’t Alessandro.

 

“I did what I had to do. You would have run away like a coward and betrayed your family. At least I’m loyal.” Emil grit his teeth at Zikmund. The older man laughed.

 

“Loyalty? Is that what you call this? You’re overthrowing father, and you call that loyalty?” He moved the hand which had been against Emil’s throat and pressed it into the bullet wound on Emil’s shoulder. Emil sucked in a pained breath but didn’t back down.

 

“S-Soňa is the true leader of the family. I… trust in her. Can you say the same of Bohumir?” Emil asked. He muffled a cry when Zikmund pushed two fingers into the bullet wound and curled them.

 

“To be frank, little brother, I don’t care. Because any side against _you_ is the side I want to be on! I wouldn’t want to stand with such a disgusting creature! You took my mother away from me just by being _born,_ everyone’s always so _protective_ over tiny little _Emil,_ the _mistake_ …” His voice began to rise and rise until he was screaming in Emil’s face. “You were never supposed to be born! _I_ was supposed to be the youngest! But as soon as you came along, I was ignored, forgotten! _Nobody cared anymore!_ ”

 

As he screamed, his fingers dug harder into Emil’s wound. Dark spots began to dance in his vision from the pain. He gasped out his words.

 

“That… that’s what… this is about? This… whole time…” He looked Zikmund in the eye and glared. “I’m… sorry you feel that way. But you… were spoiled, by mum. You know what she’s like. She still doted on you… just, she had a baby to look after, you had… to grow up.” He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck, that hurt. “You and father… treated me like shit… my whole life, then you… _sold_ me, so…” He opened his eyes again. “Don’t _you_ go acting like… you’re some kind… _of victim_!”

 

“Emil!” From down the corridor, another voice joined them. It was Pavla and Alexandr. At some point they had looped around the whole building and had ended up between Emil and the exit. Zikmund snarled.

 

“This isn’t over, Emil. Just you wait.” He pressed into the wound one last time and then ran off down the corridor, away from their older siblings. Emil leaned heavily against the wall and slid down as a dizzy spell came over him.

 

“No… it’s not over. You hurt Mickey and th-that… can’t be forgiven…” He muttered. He came to the slow, sluggish realisation that he couldn’t stay neutral anymore. He had to get his hands dirty. For Mickey’s sake.

 

“There you are!” Alexandr skidded to a stop in front of him. “We saw that Canadian skater with Mickey and wondered where the fuck you’d gotten to.”

 

Pavla reached down a hand to Emil and he took it to get to his feet again. He eventually found his words.

 

“Zikmund. Zikmund was here. He…” He trailed off. Zikmund would have killed him if Pavla and Alexandr hadn’t interrupted.

 

“Shit. No point going after him now. All the shooters are dead or escaped.” Alexandr held onto Emil’s arm when Emil’s body threatened to give out again. They made their way to the entrance of the stadium. Outside was overwhelmingly chaotic. The authorities ran around, helping the injured into ambulances. In the back of one ambulance he spotted Yuri Katsuki and Victor. The side of Yuri’s outfit was stained darker with blood, but it looked like just a scratch. Yuri looked to be panicking a little, anxiety written all over his face as Victor tried to calm him. Emil turned away. Those weren’t the skaters he was looking for.

 

“Emil!” Sara’s frantic voice startled him out of his search. She waved at him from the back of the crowd, where another ambulance was sitting out of the way. Paying no mind to where his siblings were going, he ran to Sara. She got in the ambulance and he followed. There were two paramedics working on Mickey.

 

“I don’t speak any Russian, and they don’t know much English.” Sara looked at Emil tearfully. “Can you help?”

 

Emil breathed in and out slowly, digging in his brain for his limited Russian. He knew enough to get by as a tourist, but he would struggle with medical terms. He told Sara he would try. The doors were closed, and the ambulance began to drive.

 

“Kakov yego tip krovi? Blood?” The female paramedic asked. _What’s his… blood… something? Blood type?_

“Sara, what’s Mickey’s blood type?”

 

“U-Um… it’s… uh, A positive.”

 

The conversation went on like this, in broken Russian and broken English, until they reached the hospital. Emil’s heart was in his throat, beating wildly. He couldn’t stop staring at Mickey. So pale, so… still. So bloody. Dots of blood freckled the inside of the oxygen mask he wore. Emil batted away any efforts by the paramedics to check his shoulder wound. That wasn’t important right now. Mickey was. Mickey was all that mattered.

 

Sara and Emil were shown to a relative’s room. It was steadily filling up with friends and family of those who had been at the competition that day, anxiously waiting for news. At the door, Sara stopped him.

 

“Emil, you need to get that shoulder seen to.” She insisted. Emil frowned.

 

“But-“

 

“No buts. Mickey won’t want to see you all bloody like that when he wakes up. You’ll worry him. He’ll probably be in surgery already, so it’ll be a while before we…” She trailed off. Before we know if he’s going to be okay. It was left unsaid. Emil smiled weakly.

 

“…Okay. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He promised. He kissed her forehead and went to find a nurse. After some more broken Russian and vague hand gestures, he was finally in a cubicle. The hospital was, unsurprisingly, busy. There were a lot of people with injuries. Through a gap in the curtain, he could see into the cubicle next to his. It was Yuri again, with Victor fretting at his side. But Yuri was reassuring him in low, soothing tones. It was the opposite of what he’d seen earlier, in the ambulance. Yuri had calmed down but now Victor was worrying. Victor had apparently pulled some strings, because Yuri got seen quickly by the nurse. A few stitches and a bandage later, they were gone.

 

It was another hour before a nurse got to him. The wait was overwhelmingly difficult. He couldn’t keep still. He paced in his cubicle until someone told him to sit down, then he bounced in his seat until he had to stand and keep pacing. Eventually the staff gave up on telling him to rest on the bed. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mickey. Every second, he wanted to be with Mickey. Every nerve in his body was alive with the need to leave this place and go to his fallen lover. He kept thinking about the possibilities. That was the worst thing. The time alone gave him time to think about the worst possible outcomes. Worst outcome – Mickey… dies. He shuddered every time he thought about it. It would be his fault. He was the reason Mickey was targeted. He was certain that the Rossi family had told his father about Mickey, and when Zikmund had found out… yes, this wasn’t a hit for any political reason. It was simply because Zikmund hated him.

 

Emil’s hands clenched into fists. He had never felt this angry before. This… feeling. It must be hatred. He had never hated anyone this much before. He didn’t think he even hated Alessandro this much. He understood now how Dylan felt. The promise he made, to kill Alessandro… he felt the same way about Zikmund right now. It… scared him. He didn’t think he had it in him to want to kill someone. He thought that was something the rest of his family did, but now… he understood. He understood how someone could take a life. Zikmund, in that moment when he’d pulled the trigger, had changed Emil.

 

And if Mickey didn’t survive, Emil would never be the same again. He couldn’t imagine living without Mickey. Never hearing that laugh, or tasting his pastries. Never seeing that smile, the way Mickey’s eyes lit up when he talked about something interesting. That cute pout when he was annoyed. The bravery, the goldhearted chivalry. All of that, gone in an instant at the hands of Emil’s brother. Emil couldn’t imagine ever smiling again if Mickey died.

 

Finally, a nurse came to interrupt him from these thoughts. She cleaned the wounds – entry and exit, the bullet went straight through – and then started to stitch them. After the stitches came the bandages. The whole process took about an hour. As soon as she finished the last bandage, Emil leaped out of the bed – with surprising speed for how exhausted he felt – grabbed the hospital-issued white shirt, thanked her, and ran back to the relative’s room. He had been away for three hours. Surely there would be news on Mickey?

 

But when he opened the door and spotted Sara sitting in the corner, she just shook her head. He sighed heavily and sat next to her, settling for more gruelling waiting. They continued to wait in silence for two more hours before a doctor finally came in to talk to them. Thankfully, she spoke good English.

 

“It was touch and go. The bullet hit his lung and lodged next to his heart, so it was a complicated surgery. He should pull through, provided he can wake up on his own. He’s one of the skaters, yes?” She looked up from the paperwork at them. Emil nodded. She hummed. “Returning to a stage where he can compete again… will depend on his determination. It might not happen. Just a warning.”

 

Emil’s shoulders sagged. Mickey would live – probably – but he might never skate again. It seemed like that fate was almost as bad as dying. Emil’s mistakes wouldn’t have taken Mickey’s life, but they would have taken his career. He hoped Mickey could forgive him. But did he really deserve it?

 

The doctor led them through to Mickey’s room. It was a large, private room. Likely thanks to the Nekolas, as an attempt at an apology. It was the least they could do. The room was almost painfully white and bright. Clean, clinical. Emil decided that if Mickey was here longer than a few days, he’d bring flowers. Mickey was lain, pale and silent, on the bed. The usual furrow of his brow was absent. He might look asleep if it weren’t for the oxygen mask and the ashen tone of his skin. Emil and Sara sat on either side of the bed and watched.

 

“I’m sorry.” Emil said, his voice low and cracked. “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t met me. If I hadn’t brought him into this and agreed to the plan, if I’d just-“ Sara cut him off with a glare.

 

“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, he doesn’t want that. Self-pity isn’t going to help him. It isn’t your fault.”

 

Emil shrunk back a little. The guilt didn’t budge, but he decided to shut up about it. Sara’s eyes softened slightly.

 

“The best thing you can do is be here for him.” She said. At that moment, the door opened and four people filed in. He noticed his siblings first. Pavla looked tired, her eyes closed and sunken. Alexandr was the opposite, his whole body tense and ready to snap. Behind them followed Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki. Emil did a double take. Why were they here? He assumed they’d left as soon as Yuri’s injury had been taken care of.

 

“Sara, would you mind stepping out for a while?” Pavla asked. Sara looked like she wanted to protest, but in the end she sighed in resignation and left the room. At the door, she turned to look at Emil.

 

“Look after him.” She said. He nodded, and she disappeared down the corridor. The others took the chairs from the corner of the room and came to sit around Mickey’s bed. Alexandr and Pavla sat beside Emil, with Victor and Yuri on the other side of the bed, where Sara had been sitting. Emil stared. Victor Nikiforov, _the_ Victor Nikiforov, was sitting across from him. In the same room. As a young teen he’d have given anything for this opportunity. But now wasn’t the time for fanboying. Yuri winced when he sat, but Emil had seen the wound – the Japanese man would likely be fine to skate once the free skates were rearranged.

 

Victor laced his fingers together and leaned his elbows on the bars of Mickey’s bed. Emil’s hand twitched. Victor’s expression suddenly changed. The smile was still there, but it turned… deadly. The blue eyes were hard and serious. His whole aura _shifted_ , like night and day. It took Emil by surprise. He gasped softly, but everyone ignored him. Even Yuri didn’t look surprised. Victor addressed Alexandr when he spoke.

 

“My sources tell me this attack was carried out by the Nekola family.” Victor’s voice was almost cheerful, would have been if it wasn’t for the pure _poison_ laced in with the words. Malice. Pure, unfiltered malice. He could see it in every muscle of Victor's body, hear it in every syllable purred in that smooth Russian accent. All at once Emil understood. Victor was just like them. He had been raised in this underground world of secrets and shady dealing, lies and manipulation. But it wasn’t possible (…was it…?) for Victor to have taken part in such activities whilst also having the most successful skating career of all time. So was Victor like him? Born into a family, raised to deal with these situations, but focusing on something else entirely? But… Victor looked too… _experienced_ for someone who hadn’t played this game before.

 

“Your sources would be right, in a way.” Alexandr replied gruffly. He shrugged and leaned back, clearly trying to relax. And trying hard not to swear. “But it’s not me you should be having this conversation with.”

 

“Oh?” Victor looked surprised, but it was hard to tell if it was genuine. The way Yuri shifted slightly gave it away to Emil. This was real surprise. Victor hadn’t been expecting that reply.

 

Emil hadn’t been taught much about reading people when growing up in the Nekola family. They had gone over it, of course, but it was something taught to teenagers once they started going into the business – which Emil never did. No, his skill at reading people came from his years as a sex worker. You needed to be able to read clients, tell the good from the bad, or you’d get killed. Emil would have been dead within a year if he hadn’t trained himself to notice these things.

 

“My source told me there has been a takeover bid in the Nekola family. I assumed that would come from the second oldest son.” Victor leaned forward further, interested but cautious. Emil wanted to pull him back, away from Mickey’s still form. Victor oozed danger.

 

“You assumed wrong.” Pavla cut in. It was amazing how she managed to glare at Victor without even knowing where he was. “The old world of men being in charge by default is over.”

 

The room was silent. The silence stretched on until Victor hummed again, thoughtfully.

 

“So. The oldest daughter, then? Soňa Nekola. I can’t say I did my research on her.” He admitted, looking slightly sheepish. He had clearly assumed, because most mafia were run by men, that Soňa and Pavla weren’t worth looking into. How much did Victor know about Emil, if that was the case?

 

“That was your first fucking mistake.” Alexandr grumbled. Ah, there went the short-lived forced politeness. “She’ll be here shortly. You can wait until then. She’s the head of the family, so it’s no use talking to me.”

 

Victor chuckled and leaned back in his seat, away from Mickey. Emil couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Thankfully, Soňa showed up before the silence could go from tense to awkward. She strode in, wearing a short black skirt and a button-up white shirt with a black waistcoat. She looked every bit ‘the boss’. She was smoking as she came in, but stubbed out her cigarette on her heel before she approached the bed. She took a seat at the foot of the bed, between her siblings and the skaters.

 

“Yes, the Nekola family executed this attack.” Soňa went straight to the point. Emil wondered how she’d known what they were talking about. “But not my half. We’re in the midst of a war. The blame lies with my father and two brothers. Three civilian deaths, and a dozen casualties on their side. I’ve heard I have you to thank for five of those, Mr Nikiforov. Tell me, who exactly am I talking to?”

 

_Translation: what family am I talking to?_

“My uncle heads the Orlov family. I am not particularly involved these days, but I am here as a representative.” Victor smiled and crossed one leg over the other casually. “It took a while to find information on such a small family in such a short amount of time, but we made do. However, there are still a lot of things we need to know.”

 

Soňa didn’t let Victor’s almost-insult phase her. It was true, after all, that they were a small family. The Czech Republic was a small country compared to Russia. Emil has heard of the Orlovs. They controlled most of Moscow when he was learning about the families, when he was little. Things might have changed, but Emil doubted it. Not with the amount of dangerous vibes Victor was giving out. Soňa nodded to Victor to go ahead.

 

“Why would your father target a skating competition? What was the point of a public spectacle? It goes against every logical decision a man in his position should make. Why was Michele Crispino the first to be shot…” Victor looked directly at Emil for the first time. “And _who_ is this?”

 

Soňa looked at Emil. He knew she was asking for permission to tell them. If it had been anyone else he would have said no, but Victor and Yuri were skaters. They would likely see him again, either competing against him or seeing him cheer on Mickey. He knew, now, about Victor, so it was only fair. He nodded. In these sorts of negotiations, it was safer if nobody spoke except for the family representative. It was likely why Yuri hadn’t said a word.

 

“This is Emil Nekola. He’s the youngest of us Nekola children. He’s 18. You won’t find him in any records, except perhaps if you were to look up his name in association with junior skating competitions.” She smirked slightly at the surprised look that crossed both Victor and Yuri’s faces.

 

‘ _Small world, huh…_ ’ Emil thought.

 

“This attack was carried out by Dr Zikmund Nekola, our second-to-youngest sibling. He likely did this against father’s knowledge, due to an extreme personal grudge against Emil.” Soňa explained. Emil makes a disgusted face. Zikmund was a doctor, yes, but he didn’t deserve the title. “The overtake gives him an excuse to get back at Emil. Until very recently, Emil was out of reach.”

 

At Victor’s expectant look, Soňa began to explain. The context of the leadership bid was necessary – why the family began to shatter in the first place, the deal with the Rossi family. She didn't mention exactly what Emil was doing whilst in the employment of the Rossis in Italy, but from the mildly horrified look on Yuri’s face, they figured it out. It wasn’t difficult to read between Soňa’s lines. Emil was too exhausted to feel ashamed.

 

“In Italy, Emil met Michele Crispino. They had known each other briefly when Emil was a skater. They began a relationship.” Sona finally explained. Emil doesn’t mind her saying that, either, because it was obvious from the way he refused to let go of Mickey’s hand. “The Rossi family knew of this. It seems they have told father, Bohumir and Zikmund. That would be why Michele was targeted. It was a message to Emil.”

 

For the smallest of seconds, Soňa looked guilty. Then she schooled her face back into neutrality. If Victor had noticed, he didn’t mention. He seemed to be deep in thought.

 

“The Orlov family owes you.” Victor finally said. It seemed to be what he came here to say in the first place. Something tender, something soft, something human spread across his face. He glanced at Yuri, then looked at Alexandr. “You pulled Yuri out of the path of that bullet. If it had hit him, he would be dead. I love Yuri with all my heart. I can’t live without him. I cannot thank you enough.” His blue eyes shone with gratitude. Yuri nodded quickly in agreement. Alexandr huffed and looked out of the window.

 

“Whatever. Damn brat was in my way.” He muttered. It was clear he was flattered.

 

“We don’t like to be in debt, especially not to such tiny families.” Victor’s smile turned a little cold again, but there was genuine mirth in his voice now. “We are proposing an alliance. Men, weapons, whatever you need. We want to help you take down your father and seek revenge. It isn’t a selfless offer. Othmar Nekola has organised a gunfight at a stadium on Orlov territory. That cannot be forgiven. We don’t ask for anything in return… just that you do not ask for more from us.”

 

Emil’s eyes widened. Soňa looked thoughtful, then nodded.

 

“We would be glad to accept the help, as long as all debts are considered paid after the fact.” She said. Victor and Soňa shared a dark smile.

 

The five of them left a few minutes later, to go back to the hotel and talk over the details. Emil was left alone with Mickey. He raised Mickey’s hand to his lips and kissed it. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened. They had gained some powerful allies, from Victor of all people. What was it about skating that drew in people from the underworld?

 

“We’ve got a good chance of winning now, Mickey. We have allies. All you have to do is wake up for me. Please. I can’t… live without you. But no matter what…”

 

His eyes darkened and his grip tightened. A low growl came from a part of his throat he’d never even used.

 

“…I’m getting my revenge for you, Mickey. I promise. Even if it kills me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd really go and kill Mickey, did you? That wouldn't be any fun!   
> The next chapter will probably be delayed a little. My laptop fell to pieces. It still works for now and I can put everything on a memory stick and transfer it over, but setting up a new laptop is difficult. I've got a looooot of documents and pictures to transfer over. Plus, I just got home for Christmas! I'll be visiting friends and family, getting drunk, and generally enjoying the holiday cheer. Plus, my ideas for this fic from this point on are very, very murky and general. Before now I had detailed chapter summaries to write from. Now it's just one sentence, like 'they do this' and 'they go here'. So I've got to sort out what's actually going to happen. If I don't update before the 25th, then I hope you all have a lovely festive season!  
> If you haven't already, go check out my new fic, which is the much requested sequel to 'No Hope, No Love, No Glory'. I'm here to fulfil all your Mickey/Emil angst needs!  
> Thanks again to all my lovely supporters! :)


	22. Like Stupid Adam and Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. When you kill a man, you steal a life... you steal his wife's right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone's right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness... there is no act more wretched than stealing.”
> 
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

Michele came into existence suddenly, harshly, and with no idea what was going on. He floated in a void, alone. He felt like he hadn’t existed before now at all. Like he was new to the world, and he was only just now realising he was alive. His body was light. He had no problems. He was relaxed. He could stay here forever.

 

But that… wasn’t right. He couldn’t stay here. He had… things to do. Didn’t he have people… waiting for him? Who? A tall, young man flashed in his mind. A woman, his age, with tanned skin. Emil… and Sara. He had… to be with them. He couldn’t stay here. Not when they were waiting for him. The more he thought about them, the heavier his body felt. His eyes closed – had they been open in the first place? – and his body began to feel real, heavy, and _painful_. He let out an involuntary groan, and felt someone squeeze his hand.

 

“Mickey…? Can you hear me?”

 

That voice… a voice he knew. Had known for… so many years. Sara. He battled with his eyelids for a while before he managed to get them open. The world was blurry and unfocused. His chest hurt. The last thing he remembered… they were in Russia. He was skating, then… then nothing.

 

He turned his head to the left to look at Sara’s blurry face. He could just about make out the concern in her features. She brought a straw to his dry lips and he drank greedily. When she put the empty cup back, she texted someone and then said nothing – waiting for his questions. There was something missing, but the questions pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind.

 

“…What happened?” He asked. He winced at how his voice sounded. Hoarse and low. Sara sighed.

 

“You got shot during your performance. There was a big shootout. I don’t know all the details, but Emil got you out.” Her eyes shifted side-to-side. As soon as she said Emil’s name, Michele remembered what the thing he’d been missing was. Emil wasn’t there. He struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that lanced through his chest.

 

“Emil, where is he? Is he okay? Are you okay?” He asked quickly. He pushed the thought of _holy shit I got shot, what the fuck_ to the back of his mind to focus on Emil.

 

“I’m fine. He’s fine. He got a minor injury but it’s already almost healed.” Sara assured. She put her hand on his. “He’s been… busy. Family stuff. He won’t tell me when I ask. I’ve texted him, so he’ll probably be hurrying over right now. Like an excited puppy.”

 

Michele frowned at her hand on his, trying to process everything through the haze in his head. _He’s been busy_. Wait…

 

“Sara… how long has it been? Since Rostelecom?”

 

She regarded him with an almost guilty expression. Shifting uncomfortably, she was reluctant to speak.

 

“It’s been over two weeks, Mickey. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up. You gave us a big scare; you could’ve died.” She squeezed his hand. “You were withdrawn from the rest of the competitions this season. It’ll be a while before you’re back on the ice, but our coach reckons you can try again next season if you’re determined. The rest of the skates took place last week. The Grand Prix Final is a couple of weeks from now.”

 

Michele’s head spun. He’d missed two weeks of his life. He’d almost died. He wouldn’t be able to skate for the rest of the season. His Grand Prix Final dreams this year had been ended by a bullet. He gritted his teeth in a sudden wave of anger. Who the hell had shot him?

 

“Mickey!” The door suddenly burst open, and Emil walked in with wide strides and a scared look in his eyes. When he saw that Michele was awake and talking, he sagged into a chair next to the bed in relief. “I… I was so scared, Mickey. But you’re here. You woke up.”

 

Emil continued to talk before Michele could reply. Sara left to give them some privacy.

 

“I’m so sorry, Mickey. I…I know you might not accept my apology, or you’ll say I’m stupid to apologise because it wasn’t my finger on the trigger, b-but I still need to say it. You got shot because my brother hates me. It was a personal grudge. A… message to me. You got tangled up in all of this because of me and you got hurt. So I’m sorry.”

 

Emil breathed out when he was done and sagged in his chair again, looking nervously at Michele. He rolled his eyes (even though it made his head spin) and reached for Emil’s hand.

 

“You know me too well, love. But I’m going to say it anyway. It’s stupid to apologise when it wasn’t your fault. It was my choice to get involved in this. You don’t have to feel guilty. I don’t want any of this to change the person you are.”

 

Emil smiled weakly and clutched Michele’s hand. Michele knew it wasn’t that easy. Emil still blamed himself. Michele would just have to reassure him until he didn’t. He looked Emil up and down. He didn’t look injured, and he wasn’t carrying himself awkwardly. Sara was telling the truth. Michele was still going to ask, but not now. Later. Now he was more interested in what Emil was wearing.

 

“I’ve never seen you wear black before. It looks good.” He commented. Emil looked... _so_ good. He was wearing a black button-up shirt and black dress trousers. He looked far deadlier. Powerful and slim – a long line of a man, full of coiled potential. Michele pushed down the thrum of lust that accompanied that thought. Emil’s adorable bashful look didn’t help.

 

“I’ve been working with Soňa. I can’t tell you the details. She made me wear it.” Emil replied. Michele responded with a thoughtful hum. Emil was keeping a lot from him. If he was working with Soňa… then was he getting involved with the conflict? Would Emil be in danger? “But enough about me!” Emil suddenly leaned in. “How are _you_ feeling? You got shot! You were in surgery and everything!”

 

Michele put a hand to his chest and winced. He could feel thick bandages under the hospital gown, and felt stitches under that. It hurt to breathe, he realised.

 

“It hurts. What exactly happened? Sara said you got me out, but she didn’t know the details.” He tilted his head curiously, his eyes piercing Emil’s with an unspoken message. _Tell the truth_. Emil visibly swallowed.

 

“…I saw the gun a second before you were shot. I went out onto the ice to get you when everyone panicked. I… I’m not sure what happened at that point. I kept having flashbacks.” He smiled weakly, but Michele furrowed his eyebrows. Of course, something like that… the blood, the body, the screaming. Of course that would trigger Emil. “I knew there was blood. I thought you were Noa for a while. I didn’t notice I’d been shot until JJ-”

 

“Wait, wait!” Michele’s eyes widened. “You got _shot_? Sara said it was a minor injury!”

 

“It was!” Emil chuckled, and it was genuine laughter. Emil found this _funny._ “I was shot in the shoulder. Through and through. Some cleaning, a few stitches. I’m fine. The stitches are coming out soon.”

 

“That’s not the point.” Michele muttered. Because it wasn’t just a little injury. It was another scar added to Emil’s body. He had failed to protect Emil again.

 

“Seriously, I’m alright. Don’t worry. Anyway, JJ snapped me out of it and got me to bring you over to shelter. We were pinned down by the gunfire between Alexandr and Pavla, and Zikmund’s men. Someone else had cleared a path behind us, so we went that way.” Emil squeezed Michele’s hand. Someone else? Someone else who had a gun? The way Emil spoke, it sounded like he knew exactly who that ‘someone’ was. But he wasn’t saying. “Since I was hurt, JJ carried you. He says you owe him for a new costume. You bled all over his.” Emil’s smile at that was tired and tight. He couldn’t comfortably talk about Michele being hurt. But Emil being shot? Apparently that was okay.

 

“On the way out I got confronted by my brother Zikmund. He’s the next youngest after me. He has a grudge because he used to be the baby of the family, and… anyway, it’s complicated. He didn’t hurt me much. Alexandr and Pavla got there and chased him off. I got into the ambulance with you and Sara and went off to hospital. The only other skater who got hurt was Katsuki, but he was well enough to skate again and he qualified.” Emil finished.

 

Michele sighed and closed his eyes. His chance to qualify this year had been so cruelly stolen but at the moment he didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep. And revel in the fact that he was still alive. He thanked Emil for getting him out, and drifted back to sleep.

 

He was awoken hour later when Mr and Mrs Crispino hurried into the room, followed by Sara. They had been watching the TV when Michele had been shot, and had flown out of Italy the following day to stay in Moscow.

 

After a tearful reunion and some assurance that Michele would be okay, Antonio Crispino glanced at Emil, who had been standing to one side to give the family space. He smiled kindly at the teenager.

 

“And who might you be, young man? A friend of Mickey?” He enquired, switching to English. Emil smiled back sheepishly and rubbed his neck. He looked from Michele to Michele’s dad and back again, clearly not knowing how much he could say about their relationship. Michele decided to bite the bullet (not so great an expression now that he knew how much it hurt to get shot).

 

“This is Emil, my boyfriend. Emil, my parents. Silvia and Antonio.” He watched his parents carefully as he spoke. They knew he had a boyfriend, from his impromptu revelation at the NHK Trophy, but perhaps they hadn’t expected to meet him. His dad looked momentarily surprised before he grabbed Emil’s hand to shake it, a wide smile on his face. Michele was reminded that Sara took after their dad.

 

“It’s great to finally meet you! I’ve been texting and calling Mickey for weeks trying to find out more. Do you think you could convince him to communicate? I thought teenagers were difficult but try having Mickey as a son! It’s like having a brick wall for a child.” He shook his head in faux despair. Michele felt a little guilty for his silence in the last few weeks. “I saw on the TV that you went out to save him. Thank you.”

 

Emil looked momentarily confused – dads, to him, shouldn’t be so kind – and then he smiled brightly.

 

“It’s nice to meet you to, Mr Crispino. I’m sure I can get him to open up more.” He promised. He looked at Michele’s mum, who was staring with a hard look. She had the kind of stare that could go right through you, into your soul. She was hard to lie to, but was often an unsympathetic judge of character. She had a tendency of blaming the victim. She crossed her arms, making it clear that she had no intention of shaking Emil’s hand.

 

“We’ll see about that.” Was all she said. Michele sighed, but it was better than what he had been expecting. Better than outright rejection. Knowing her, she would come around eventually. Emil just had to prove himself. But what could be better proof than this? Emil had risked his life to save Michele.

 

Silvia sat down and promptly ignored Emil. She instead fixed Michele with the same hard gaze.

 

“We’ve been working with the Russian police to try to find out who shot you.” She said. Michele felt fear clutch his gut, and he saw Emil go stiff out of the corner of his eye. Nobody said anything, so his mum continued. “They think it was related to organised crime. If it had been terrorism, a group would have claimed the attack.”

 

Michele cleared his throat and tried to act surprised.

 

“Oh. I see. But I don’t see why they would target someone like me…”

 

“We’re worried…” Antonio put his hands on his hips. A guilty look crossed his face. “…It might be because of us. We work to shut down organised crime. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find out you’re our son. But there’s something about that theory that doesn’t make sense. These crime networks don’t deal in public spectacles like this. They kill from the shadows. This was so… obvious. There’s more going on here. We’ll find out who did this and bring them down. I promise you that, son.”

 

Michele smiled weakly. There was no way he could tell his parents what was really going on. They would never approve of his relationship with Emil. The Crispinos were actively trying to bring down families like the Nekolas. Was this a ‘Romeo and Juliet’ situation? He dreaded the moment when he would have to give in and trust them to not hunt down his in-laws.

 

A week later, the doctors deemed Michele well enough to go back to Prague. Like Sara had said, Emil was suspiciously absent over that week. He visited every day, in the evening, but he never stayed. At first he was worried that Emil was still blaming himself, but it became obvious over the week that he was busy elsewhere. With Soňa. Sometimes he came back with fresh bruises, smelling like dirt and metal and danger. Something had changed in Emil’s eyes. He didn’t notice when he first woke up but as he became more lucid he started to pay closer attention. Something was different. Emil’s eyes looked…more like the eyes of the rest of his family.

 

When they got back to the apartment in Prague, things didn’t go back to normal. If anything Emil was out more than before. He didn’t come back for days on end. Sara was helping Michele get around. He got tired easily, and couldn’t walk more than a few metres before collapsing. It was frustrating to have to rely on everyone else. The grand prix final was just around the corner and he wanted to go to support Sara. Sara, on the other hand, didn’t want him to come.

 

“You’re hurt. Mila will be there to support me, and I know you’ll be watching. We don’t have to always be around each other, Mickey.”

 

Sara’s words felt like a punch in the gut. The last few months had been leading to this point but it hurt to hear it out loud. Sara… didn’t need him to be there every second, anymore. But now that he thought about it, he didn’t need her around all the time either. They had… grown up.

 

“Don’t be like that.” Emil came in from the kitchen, drying a plate with a dish towel. He had gotten back just a few hours ago with a noticeable limp. Mickey hadn’t asked. “I already called Chris. He wants to help Mickey get around the venue. The women don’t skate on the same days as the men so it’s not like he’s competing when you are, Sara.”

 

He leaned against the doorframe and smiled brightly. Something in his expression didn’t hold true for Michele. Something was off. An ulterior motive?

 

“You’re not coming?” Michele raised an eyebrow.

 

“I can’t. I’d be putting you in danger again. Father has probably scolded Zikmund already and security will be tight, but they’re still after me. I’ll be watching the whole thing on TV. And I’ll be sure to call!”

 

“You’d better.” Soňa came into the room, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. Michele stared. He hadn’t seen her since the hospital in Russia, where she had come to apologise to him. She looked at Michele. Her eyes were piercing. “During the grand prix final, there’s a raid on the family home in the countryside. Emil isn’t coming. He isn’t trained enough. So he’s going to be staying…” She turned her cold glare on Emil. “ _Right here_ , until the raid is over and we can relocate to the townhouse. The conflict will be over by the time you two return. Then we only have the Rossi family to deal with.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Michele saw Emil shudder. But the younger man kept up his smile.

 

“It’ll be a bit boring staying here by myself, but it’s for the best. I’ll wait for it all to blow over and then…” Emil breathed out slowly. “We can get started on the rest of our lives.”

 

Michele clenched his fists and looked at Emil, hoping he was right. Praying that the bad feeling in his gut was wrong. Praying that Emil was telling the truth. That was the problem with someone like Emil. Emil rarely lied. So when he did lie, it was hard to catch him out. But Michele was sure Emil wouldn’t lie to him.

 

A couple of days later, Emil accompanied him and Sara as far as the lobby of the apartment complex. He knelt down beside Michele’s wheelchair and hugged him gently, as if he might break at the lightest touch. Michele frowned and gripped Emil back tighter, then grabbed his face and kissed him. Emil kissed back enthusiastically and cupped his cheeks as he pulled away and smiled.

 

Michele looked back at the apartment complex long after the car had turned the corner and pushed Emil out of view. He couldn’t shake the idea that if he let Emil out of his sight, he might never see that smile again.

 

Chris met them at Barcelona airport, his face cheerful but worried. Emil had filled him in on the basics, and when they reached the hotel Chris insisted on rooming with him.

 

“You better not try anything funny, Chris.” Michele grumbled. His English had improved drastically over the last couple of months, so he no longer had to hear Chris’ sinfully sexy Italian. Chris chuckled, his voice deep and inviting, as he pushed Michele’s wheelchair through the door of their hotel room.

 

“I would never do something like that. Love is meant to be something shared enthusiastically, consensually, with the knowledge of all parties involved. You’re hurt, and you’re taken, and I’m not sure you even like me as a friend.”

 

Michele grit his teeth and pushed himself out of his chair. He moved to sit on one of the single beds. He looked pointedly at the wall, a light blush on his cheeks from the embarrassment.

 

“That… um… that’s not true. I do. Like you, I mean. As a friend. You’ve been a good help. You can keep a level head when I panic. Me and Emil owe you for what you did. So… I guess, I’m trying… to say thanks.” He hunched his shoulders and glared. He hated having to talk about this kind of thing. Luckily, Chris wasn’t in the mood to tease him much.

 

“Aww. You’re so cute sometimes, Mickey. I can see why Emil likes you. And I can see why you like Emil. He’s adorable.” Chris held his hands out in a defensive gesture when Michele growled. “Hey, now. Don’t worry. He isn’t my type either. Too young. And I know he carries a lot of baggage. I’m not dedicated enough to sort through all that, but I’m certain you can do it. Since you love him.” He patted Michele’s head. “I’m rooting for you two. If you ever need any more help, just call.”

 

Chris was, for the most part, as good as his word. He helped Michele when he needed it and knew when to back off when he didn’t. On the other hand, he sure did like to run off and go swimming with Victor. Victor and Chris were good friends, as far as Michele knew. He didn’t know the details but Emil had implied that Victor was somehow going to help the Nekola family to take down their patriarch. Did Chris know about Victor’s… less than savoury connections?

 

As it turned out, being in a skating rink was too much for Michele. Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all. It only took ten minutes for Michele to start panicking. Sara had gotten him out of there and away from the prying eyes of the ravenous media. They were all over Michele, curious about how he was doing, curious about the motive behind the incident. It was better for Michele to stay in his hotel room alone.

 

He filled a lot of these lonely moments with Emil. Calling, texting, skyping. Emil was just as bored. He had been left with Jarek whilst the others prepared for the raid. Jarek was, apparently, not very good at stealth work. Michele had to laugh at that. Jarek was probably better at honeypot missions, with his flirtatious nature and admittedly pretty face. But even Jarek was busy a lot, and Emil was left by himself most of the time.

 

The Grand Prix Final came and went in a blur. Sara came fourth. She wasn’t far off medalling, but with how disruptive the last few months had been it was a surprise she came so high at all. Not that Michele ever doubted her. Sara was determined. The twins were due to fly back to Prague the day after the closing ceremony. Michele took a nap whilst the ceremony was on. He had been sleeping a lot to aid his recovery. He could breathe easier now but walking for long periods of time was still a big struggle. He was glad that his gut feeling had been wrong. The Grand Prix Final had been entirely uneventful – for Emil and Michele, at least.

 

He was woken from his dreamless sleep by his phone. Emil had changed his ringtone to ‘Origin of Love’ by Mika as a joke, and Michele hadn’t figured out yet how to change it back to default.

 

_Like stupid Adam and Eve they found their love in a tree, God didn’t think they deserved it-_

He groaned and reached blindly for the phone.

 

_He taught them hate, taught them pride, gave them a leaf, made them hide-_

 

“Hello?” He sat up with a pained groan as he answered.

 

“Mickey. It’s Jarek.”

 

A cold feeling overcame Michele, like he’d been shoved in a cold shower.

 

“Emil’s missing. I think he’s gone to join in the raid. There’s no time to stop him.”

 

Michele should have stayed in Prague, after all. Emil was a better liar than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long!! The whole laptop thing honestly only took a week or so to clear up, but some other things came up... mostly, I wasn't motivated to write. It seems I can write best when I'm feeling lonely or depressed, and since I've been home from uni, I've been feeling much better. But I have an assignment due in a few days, I haven't started and I don't understand it at all, so now I'm stressed again... and hey presto, I started writing again! Another reason for feeling unmotivated was definitely not knowing what to write. Like I said, I don't have these latter chapters planned out at all. I'm winging it from this chapter onward. I had a great Christmas and New Year, and I hope you all did too :)  
> I felt like I wanted to write but I didn't get motivated enough to finish this until I woke up to some lovely new comments today, so thank you for those! I have no idea when the next chapter will be, to be perfectly honest. Just rest assured that I'll never abandon this.


	23. A Colouring Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini

Emil had a lot of regrets in life. He’d be the first to point out all of the stuff he shouldn’t have done. And yet, he couldn’t stop making bad decisions. Even worse, he couldn’t bring himself to regret those, because sometimes there weren’t any other options.

 

That was especially true now. He felt like he’d been pushed into a corner and only had one way out, and that way out… was to fight. For Mickey and for himself, he had to act. If he sat alone in his flat and let everything happen around him, he didn’t feel like he could ever find peace.

 

_“Daddy! Daddy, look, I drew a picture of you! See-”_

_“I don’t have time for this right now, Emil. Go and bother your mother instead.”_

 

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel impatiently. It was raining hard, and he could barely see the country road through his windscreen – especially since it was dark. He had to drive slower than he would have liked. And, well, he’d only just learnt how to drive. His family’s recent teachings hadn’t just been about fighting. Driving was a practical skill he’d needed to learn. So was hotwiring a car. He hoped Jarek wouldn’t mind too much.

 

Scratch that, they were all going to be mad at him, weren’t they? Especially Soňa. And Mickey. And Antonio. He and Antonio had been talking a lot on the phone since they met in Russia. The Italian man was cheerful and supportive, even if Emil couldn’t tell him any of his real problems. But they… Soňa, and Antonio, and Sara and Mickey… they’d never understand. He had to do this. He had to look his brothers and his father in the face and…

 

…and what? Kill them? The gun in his pocket felt heavy and cold. He was hyperaware of its presence at all times. Like a part of his mind was always on the deadly weapon, no matter what else he was thinking about. Here he was, less than a mile from his childhood home, and he still didn’t have a plan.

 

He pulled over on the side of the road and hid the car in a forested area. For a moment he sat in the car and listened to the rain fall outside. It was peaceful. He wondered what Mickey was doing right now. He was probably asleep, or watching the closing ceremony. His hand twitched towards his phone, in his pocket, then stalled and fell. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to worry Mickey.

 

_“Figure skating? What the hell, Marika? Do you want to raise some kind of queer? He needs to learn our trade, like all Nekola men. Don’t let him become a disappointment.”_

_“Did you hear that, Emil? Dad thinks you’re a disappointment! Just you wait, brat. I’ll get you back for stealing mum away from me. A disappointment can’t stand up to someone like me.”_

 

Steeling himself, he opened the door of the car and went out into the rain. He flinched as it hit him, cold and biting. It clawed into the black suit he was wearing like a vice. He set his jaw and started walking up the road, staying in the shadows. The raid was due to begin in seven minutes. That gave him just seven minutes to reach the house and sneak in before Soňa and the others began their attack. By now, Jarek would have already called to tell them he had disappeared.

 

Emil saw the mansion in the distance. It hadn’t changed much in the last few years. It looked darker, more run-down… and there was less security. It didn’t surprise him. From what he’d heard, many in the extended family had realised that Soňa was going to win, especially with the Orlov family helping. Soňa’s plans had been realised much faster with the Russians to help. Most had abandoned Emil’s father. At this point, his father and two brothers were just delaying the inevitable.

 

Suddenly, he heard shouting and gunfire coming from the house. He started to sprint. Dammit! Soňa must have started early, because she knew he was coming. She wanted to get it over with before Emil could step foot in the house. When he got closer he realised that almost everyone was already inside. Pavla was the only exception. She was outside, in the garden, coordinating everyone from behind the tree they used to climb together. She could probably visualise the mansion better than anyone, and with the others reporting their location, she could direct them accordingly. She drew her gun when Emil stepped closer.

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s me.” He held up his hands, although she couldn’t see it. She scowled.

 

“Jesus, Em. You should know better.” She said. She wasn’t just talking about him sneaking up on her. She was talking about him being here in the first place.

 

“I’m going in. You can’t stop me.” He drew his gun and looked up at the place he’d called home for so many years. He shook his head like a dog to get his wet hair out of his eyes. The rain dripped sadly from the end of his beard.

 

“I know I can’t.” Pavla held out an earbud. “Put that in. At the very least, follow orders whilst you’re in there. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” He smiled gratefully and put the earbud in. All at once he was assaulted with the raised voices of his siblings and their men.

 

“Two men down in the parlour, area clear!”

 

“I can hear Bo in the third master bedroom, do I engage the fucker?”

 

“Hold off. I’m on my way.”

 

“I’m pinned down in the kitchen, can anyone get over here?!”

Emil flinched. They all sounded so professional. They knew what they were doing. But no, he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He took a deep breath and entered through the back door. Almost immediately, his foot caught in the body of a dead man. He couldn’t tell what side he was from. He swallowed and looked away. He couldn’t afford to feel compassion, either. Not right now.

 

“Em’s here. He’s entered through the backdoor.”

 

“Fucking hell. Let’s get this wrapped up quickly!”

“I’m a part of this family too! Don’t act like I’m a nuisance!” Emil said into the com.

 

“Right now, that’s exactly what you are.” Soňa. Emil grit his teeth and moved forward.

 

_“You’re expendable. That’s what dad says. You’re not good enough, you don’t fit his mould. That’s why he’s sending you to become some whore in another country. It’s because he can spare you. He can’t spare me. Doesn’t that just prove I’m better?”_

 

Most of his way was already clear. He only had to fire once, at a man who was already down and aiming his gun at Emil. He’d been stalking through a corridor next to the stairs when he heard the click of a gun safety going off. On instinct, he’d turned. It took him less than a second to take in the man’s position, against the wall, aiming at him.

 

Emil aimed for the leg, but missed and hit the shoulder instead. It didn’t matter. Either way, it was non-lethal, and the man passed out. Emil continued up the stairs, following the directions of his siblings in his ear. Bohumir had been taken down, non-lethally. Zikmund hadn’t been found, and Soňa was in a stand-off with their father in the main office. Emil saw the door to the office at the end of the hallway. It was so inviting. It called him in with every beat of his heart. _Don’t you want to talk to him? Don’t you want to know?_

His legs moved before he had chance to think it over. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

 

Soňa stood in the middle of the room, her back to the door. In front of her, behind the desk, stood their father. Othmar Nekola looked much older than the last time Emil had seen him. It had only been a few years but that short space of time had aged the man beyond his 72 years. His brown hair had gone grey, and wrinkles had formed on his forehead and around his eyes. Even the way he held himself looked tired. He slouched, bone-weary, as he pointed the gun at his daughter. When Emil came in, Othmar’s eyes momentarily wavered from her and onto his youngest. Then his finger tightened on the trigger.

 

But Soňa was quicker. Using Othmar’s distraction to her advantage she fired and hit him square in the chest. He stumbled backwards and grasped the chair behind him. He dropped the gun and went down to the floor, disappearing behind the desk. Emil found himself rushing forward. Soňa didn’t try to stop him. He went around the desk and knelt next to his father. The wound looked fatal. Why now? Why not…? Why couldn’t he have more time? There was so much he wanted to say. So much to ask. And even now, a part of him… yes, a part of him wanted that unobtainable future where his father cared about him. The one where Othmar handed over power peacefully and realised all his mistakes. Emil knew he was being childish. A fairytale ending like that was never possible.

 

“Father?” His voice came out low, rasping. Desperate. Scared. He felt five years old again in the presence of this once great man. He felt like the toddler who painted a picture and wanted approval from his father. But anything that Othmar could give now, in his dying moments, couldn’t make up for the lifetime of rejection.

 

“Emil… y-you…” And Othmar looked tired, oh, so tired. More tired than he’d looked every time he lectured Emil’s mother about those stupid skating lessons. More exhausted than he’d looked when he had told Emil he was being sent away. With blood dripping from his mouth, he looked like a corpse already. No – he’d looked like a corpse before he was shot, too. “You’ve… grown. You’re a… man, now…”

 

Emil’s heart squeezed painfully. He blinked and his blurred vision cleared. His cheeks were wet and his chest heaved with a rasping sob. Not for the father he was losing, but for the father he could have had. Crying for that potential the two of them lost long ago.

 

“Why? Father, I… I need to know. If there’s one nice thing you ever do for me, then please, just answer me. Why… don’t you love me? Why did you never love me?”

 

The tears dripped into his beard. It was an unpleasant feeling and for a moment it distracted him from Othmar’s gasping breaths. They were getting slower. He wasn’t going to ask why his father gave him away, why his father taunted him and rejected him. The answer to that question was easy. It was because Othmar Nekola did not love Emil Nekola. Not even a little.

 

He was surprised when Othmar laughed. Weak and fragile, but still a laugh. He’d never heard his father laugh before. Never.

 

“I… yes…” Othmar closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “If I had one regret… it… would be that. I’m… sorry, Emil. I… shouldn’t have tried… to make you into a person you weren’t. You’re… not like us. You’re too kind.”

 

Was this it? Was he wrong? Did his father love him, after all? His heartbeat sped up, like a hare running from an eagle.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t love you, Emil. And… I’m… sorry I didn’t _try_ to love you.” Othmar Nekola opened his eyes one last time to meet his youngest son’s gaze. Emil’s soul felt shattered. The cracks appeared with every gasped word, every confirmation. _He doesn’t love you._

 

“I hope you find happiness… with someone who loves you… as much as you deserve.”

 

Emil pulled back as his father’s eyes closed once more. No, for the last time. The gasping breaths stopped. His father was dead.

 

He felt numb, from his head to his toes. He stood, uncertainly, on uncertain footing, and stumbled over to Soňa. She gathered him up in her arms and held the back of his head to her shoulder as he cried. Her smell was reassuring. Cigarette smoke, metal, and something softer. Something floral. Sunflowers, maybe. He was safe. And by Soňa, at least… he was loved. He had the answers he wanted.

 

Othmar had been tired. He had already been in his 50s when Emil was born. He had been ruling a mafia family for over twenty years, and he… was tired. He had been too tired to conjure up any more love for one last accidental child. He had killed too many people and seen too much of this horrid world to care about that sunshine boy. It was as if he had known that Emil’s innocence wasn’t going to last. As if he couldn’t bear to see that bright smile shattered. And if he never loved Emil, he never had to feel pain over Emil’s inevitable corruption.

 

It didn’t make it okay. It didn’t make _any of it_ okay. But Emil would take it. For a father who had given him nothing… it was _something_. A pain in his heart was finally gone. Something was always better than nothing.

 

Emil eventually pulled away from Soňa and smiled weakly.

 

“I’m going to… go wash my face. I feel gross.” He moved past her, avoiding her pitying smile, and found the nearest bathroom. The whole house seemed to have breathed a great sigh of relief. It was a large bathroom, with several cupboards for linen. He went to the sink and splashed his face with cold water. He grabbed a towel and dried himself, then looked in the mirror.

 

And froze.

 

Zikmund was standing right behind him, with a gun to his head.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Emil groaned and dropped the towel in the sink. He turned to face his brother. “Father’s dead. There’s nothing to fight about anymore. Bohumir’s down. You’re alone. I’m sure Soňa will welcome you back if you give up and agree to see a damn therapist and atone for your crimes. I doubt the Russians will let you off easy though.”

 

“You know that this fight has never been about them. Not for me. It’s always been about you.” Zikmund snarled. His face morphed into something ugly. He was a handsome man – hell, everyone in the family was attractive – but he had been twisted by ugly thoughts.

 

“Why? Mum still loves you. She always loved you. Our father just used his _dying breaths_ to confirm that… that…” It was still so raw, so close to the surface. He powered on. “…That he’s never loved me. So… yeah. You win. You have more parental love. Can you just… stop?”

 

Emil sagged a bit, like his father’s exhaustion had rubbed off on him.

 

“You’ve been on at me my whole life. Enough already. Just… stop.”

 

For a split second, Zikmund hesitated. It was all the time Emil needed. In that second, he grabbed the gun and twisted it upwards, out of Zikmund’s grip. He kicked his older brother’s legs out from under him and aimed the gun at his head. Suddenly, all the rage he had felt when Mickey had been shot came back to him. Zikmund shot Mickey. Zikmund almost killed Mickey. There had been so much blood. So much pain. Mickey might never skate again.

 

“You… hurt the person who matters most to me in this world. He’s my treasure. My soulmate. I can’t live without him. Anyone who hurts him… doesn’t deserve to live. I'm not sorry for this.” His face felt cold. His heart felt… cold. He let the memories play in his head. He let the memories hurt him, to justify what he was about to do. His thumb moved. The safety clicked off. Zikmund said nothing, but he was defenceless. _Scared._ It was perfect. Mickey had been scared, too. This look in Zikmund’s eyes, this fear… was it the same fear Mickey felt? His finger squeezed the trigger.

 

Mickey…

 

Emil’s eyes widened. His stance faltered. Mickey’s words floated back to him, as they so often did in times of pain.

 

_“You don’t have to feel guilty. I don’t want any of this to change the person you are.”_

Change… the person he was…? The person Mickey thought he was, when…

 

_“You make me smile more than anyone else, even Sara. You make my heart skip beats just with your laugh. You’re so much more resilient than I am. Determined. Smart. Honest.”_

Yes… when he confessed, in hospital, after Alessandro. And even later…

 

_“I love you. You’ll always have me. This is forever, if you want it.”_

He looked down the barrel of the gun at Zikmund, and slowly… steadily, like water draining from a bathtub… the hatred bled out of him. This wasn’t the person he was. Even his father’s words came back to him now. _You’re not like us. You’re too kind_. He wasn’t about to change that. He was going to stay the person who had earnt Michele Crispino’s love.

 

He lowered the gun, took out the bullets, and tossed them out of the open window. He threw the gun out too, for good measure.

 

“I’m better than doing something like that. I’m better than you.” He glared down at Zikmund, who looked stunned. Emil turned his com back on.

 

“Zikmund’s in the master bathroom. He’s not armed.”

 

It took all of five seconds for Soňa to reach him. Her gun was drawn, despite his assertation that Zikmund wasn’t dangerous. She checked him over to be sure, and cuffed him. Zikmund was still stunned into silence. Emil decided he would talk to Zikmund later, in private. Right now, he really wanted to sleep. And call Mickey. Mickey had probably heard by now that he’d gone missing. There would have to be a lot of apologising.

 

Outside, the weather had cleared a bit. It was still raining (and still dark) but it had eased some. Instead, the wind had picked up, and it sent a chill down Emil’s spine. He was reminded of how wet his clothes still were from the earlier downpour. He took out his com and handed it back to Pavla.

 

“Thanks for letting me in there.” He said. She snorted.

 

“As if you would have taken no for an answer.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m going to go and take a call. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He smiled at her (it was, probably, not as bright as usual – but maybe more genuine than it had been for years) and headed off into a wooded area near the garden. He took out his phone and called Mickey. Mickey picked up on the second ring.

 

“Emil! What the fucking hell do you think you’re playing at doing something so-!”

 

“I love you~”

 

“…Wha…? Don’t think you can get away with being reckless just because you-!”

 

“Aww, but Mickey, I…”

 

From somewhere ahead of him, he heard movement. He trailed off and squinted through the rain into the darkness. The wind picked up again.

 

“Emil? Love? Is everything okay?”

 

The bushes rustled.

 

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just the wind. Anyway, I was about to say…”

 

He trailed off again. This time, it was because a shock of pure dread had been poured over his body as soon as his eyes had caught those of the figure who had emerged from the bushes. He was pinned to the spot by the piercing, cold gaze. A hundred memories pushed and pulled at him, screamed at him, _suffocated him_. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Mickey’s voice in his ear sounded far away. So incredibly close and so incredibly distant. The man in front of him stalked towards him like a predator to helpless prey. The phone was plucked from his frozen fingers and dropped to the forest floor. He let out an involuntary whimper.

 

“Shh now, my beautiful puppy. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW IT'S 5.50 IN THE MORNING AND I STAYED UP TO FINISH THIS BECAUSE I ONLY GET INSPIRED WHEN I'M TIRED APPARENTLY.   
> This chapter is full of action... finally. A lot of the scenes in this chapter had been planned a while back. Especially the one with Emil's father. I've been using a different Khaled Hosseini quote for each chapter for a while now, and when I saw the one for this chapter... I knew exactly what I wanted to write. That last part though? Totally unplanned until I wrote it. Nyehehe. I feel so evil. And so very, very tired.


	24. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You say you felt a presence, but I only sensed an absence. A vague pain without a source. I was like a patient who cannot tell the doctor where it hurts, only that it does.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

 

“To be blunt, Mickey, we don’t know for sure where he is.”

 

The room was silent. Even Alexandr, who had been yelling at everyone and anyone for the last hour, had gone quiet. Everyone looked troubled. It didn’t help that Michele couldn’t stop glancing at the bloodstain in the corner of the room. It was a large room, with rich wooden décor and gold highlights that reminded him of some kind of French palace. The whole mansion was impressive. He couldn’t appreciate it properly though, because... Emil wasn’t here. He was _gone_. Michele felt like one of his limbs had been amputated. Emil's absence physically hurt. 

 

“What do you mean you don’t know? What happened?” Michele was barely keeping it together. He hadn’t been told much, only that Emil had survived the raid and then gone missing. The Nekolas had been silent since then. Now they were all gathered around the grand table, and nobody had the answers he was looking for.

 

“He went to phone you.” Pavla spoke up. “I heard him yell. By the time I directed Soňa there, he was already gone. There was blood. Bohumir told us they had a member of the Rossi family staying with them. He hasn’t been found.”

 

Michele’s blood ran cold. His fists clenched and unclenched.

 

“What was his name?” He growled, lowly. _I swear to God, if it’s that bastard…_

Soňa sighed. She looked like she was sharing the information regretfully, like she didn’t want to tell him. _Fuck that, I have a right to know._

“Alessandro Rossi. You know of him.” She said. The other siblings looked surprised. Marika, their mother, didn’t. Of course she didn’t. That woman knew everything.

 

“Fuck.” Michele put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. He had vowed to keep Emil safe. He thought it was all over. They would never have to see or hear from Alessandro ever again. He’d let Emil down again. He glared at the table. But wallowing in self-hatred wasn’t going to get him anywhere and it certainly wasn’t going to help Emil. He took his head out of his hands and straightened up.

 

“Who the fuck is Alessandro Rossi?” Alexandr narrowed his eyes at Michele.

 

“He was one of Emil’s… clients. Back in Italy. Emil didn’t know he was part of the Rossi family. He hurt Emil. His eye? That was Alessandro.” Michele’s fingers twitched. If Alessandro were right in front of him, right now… _stay calm, stay calm_ … “He also murdered a dear friend of Emil’s.”

 

Soňa lifted a cigarette from her bra and placed it between her lips at an agonisingly slow pace. Everyone was watching her. Michele had thought her a leader before, but now she oozed confidence. All eyes were transfixed on the flame of her lighter as she lit the cigarette.

 

“They likely want him as insurance against attack. But we don’t work like that. We don’t have the help of the Russians anymore, but we’re not going to sit back and let Em be harmed. I won’t make the same mistakes as my father.”

 

“I got a call from our benefactor in Russia.” Pavla glanced at Michele, clearly not wanting to give something important away. When Soňa hummed in a clear signal of _it doesn’t matter,_ Pavla continued. “He’s still in Barcelona but he heard about what happened. Whilst his uncle is withdrawing support as they agreed, Victor himself wants to help get Emil back. He’s going to fly out here as soon as he’s able.”

 

“Victor? As in, _that_ Victor?” Michele was sure his owlish surprise would have been funny in any other situation.

 

“Yeah. Keep up, you shitty brat.” Alexandr grunted. He put his boots up on the table, ignoring Jarek’s disapproving look. He swung his chair back onto two legs with a sigh. “Even with us lot, our men, and Victor, I’m not sure it’s enough. And we don’t know where they’ve got Emil.”

 

“Leave that with me.” Jarek spoke up. He had been sporting a guilty look all morning. It was his slip up that let Emil get himself into danger in the first place. Seeing the flirtatious man so down, and the rest of the family so upset – though they didn’t show it – made Michele think seriously about what _he_ could do. He had left the wheelchair behind in Barcelona and was making do with a crutch, but he was still weak. Another, riskier solution came to mind.

 

“I think…” Michele spoke up hesitantly. The others looked at him intensely. He refused to back down. “I think I have an idea about that. There’s a guy I know in Turin who would help, and there’s… my parents.”

 

Soňa, who wouldn’t be seen dead letting someone into her house unless she’d looked into their family history a long time ago, frowned subtly. But she kept listening.

 

“They work for the police, in the organised crime division. They don’t always follow the rules.” He thought about his mother, who was driven and determined and would do anything to win. He thought of his father, who was kind and protective and would do anything to help his children. “I think they would prefer to take down a good sized Italian mafia over a small Czech mafia. You guys are the problem of the Czech police. They could help.”

 

“Fuck off!” Alexandr put his feet down and slammed his hands into the table instead with a loud bang. “You want us to get the help of the fucking police? Are you insane? For fuck’s sake-”

 

“Alex.” Soňa silenced the rant with a single word. The only sound in the room was Marika’s teacup gently setting down in its saucer. Soňa looked to her.

 

“Mum. What do you think?”

 

The silence stretched on. Michele raised an eyebrow. Why had Sona sought the advice of her mother? Did Marika know more about this sort of thing? It would make sense. So far, Michele hadn’t found a language that Marika _didn’t_ speak. The middle-aged, soft-looking lady smiled gently at Michele.

 

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, young man. I think you know your parents well enough to know this will work. You wouldn’t have suggested it in front of so many dangerous people otherwise.” She laughed. Michele shivered at the reminder that he was surrounded by a lot of very angry, very well-armed older siblings of Emil. He was lucky he was on their side.

 

The meeting concluded half an hour later, with a tentative plan of action in place. Michele wanted to go in as soon as possible. Emil could be hurting. He could be anywhere. He might not even still be aliv-

 

No. He couldn’t think that way. Emil wouldn’t die so easily. But they had to wait at least a few days for the reorganisation of the whole Nekola family network. They had to wait for Victor to get here. And they had to wait for the answer of the Crispino parents. That, at least, would be easily done. Michele and Soňa sat in front of a laptop that afternoon and videocalled Silvia and Antonio Crispino.

 

“Darling!” Silvia was pleasantly surprised to see him. “What’s the occasion? You hardly ever call us. And who’s this?” Her gaze shifted to Soňa.

 

“This is Soňa Nekola. She’s Emil’s sister. Soňa, Antonio and Silvia.” He took a deep breath. “Mum… Dad… there’s something I have to tell you. I have a lot to confess. I haven’t been honest with you.”

 

And so Michele started at the beginning. He started with that chance meeting in that dark, suffocating alleyway. A chance meeting with a young man made of sunshine, who reeled him in as if Michele were a planet, orbiting him, pulled by the gravity of the young man’s smile – the curiosity of his bruises. The dark matter of his pain. He continued the story with his own deductions at the time, his worries, his questions to his parents because back then he’d needed to know, needed to help, even if he didn’t know why. He stumbled into the retelling of the mistakes he’d made, the crushing shame he’d felt at his own embarrassment. This young man, his sun, was nothing to be embarrassed about. The terrifying realisation that he had failed the young man once before, had let him skate away without trying to help. He started to cry – silent, heavy tears – when he came to say that the young man had been so horrifically hurt. He confessed solemnly that he had fallen in love with the man, had loved him for a long time. He mentioned in passing the weeks they spent together, in muffled happiness, as if their peace was being viewed through the static of a TV or densely falling snow.

 

He gestured to Soňa when he mentioned meeting the man’s older sister. He spelled out delicately the mistakes of the Nekola family and their hopes, too. Michele moved swiftly through the young man’s rejection of that hope until he paused, stuck, frozen on the dead body of a young kiwi who had not known – but had long accepted – that her purpose in life would be to save the young man from the fate she had befallen. He stuttered in the road of the narrative until Soňa took his hand and squeezed. For a moment he imagined it was his own sister, and then he continued. He told of the meetings between himself and the Nekolas, the move to Prague. He admitted that he had known who shot him on the ice, known all the while the Crispinos were blaming themselves. He pressed his hands to his face as he forced out the last of the tale. Whilst he had been asleep in his bed in Barcelona, the young man, his sun, his everything, had been taken back by the demon who had tortured him.

 

At the end of the account he looked up, looked his parents in the eye as they sat hundreds of miles away, and begged them. All his conviction, his confidence, welled up inside him.

 

“Please. We need your help. I need your help. Emil… needs your help.”

 

Antonio breathed out heavily, like a wave that had swelled and broken on the shore. He regarded his son in a new light. It was as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Not adult to child, but man to man. The gaze of a man who wanted nothing but to protect his family found the gaze of a man who wanted the same thing. They understood each other suddenly in that moment.

 

And Silvia, being harsher than her husband but wanting the same thing, was struck by the same revelation when her son’s eyes turned to her. They cursed themselves, she and Antonio, for never seeing that their son had been on this journey. He had changed. She was not looking at someone fragile, as she had always thought. She was now looking at an iron wall of a man, strong and standing against the storm despite the risks. The doubts she had harboured against Emil vanished. She took out her phone.

 

“What do you need?”

 

* * *

 

 

Victor arrived three days later. Michele suspected he might still be hungover, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t blame Victor for celebrating the successes of Yuri and Yuri. As long as he was serious about helping them against the Rossis, Victor could get as drunk as he wanted. They needed all the help they could get. On Michele’s part, he’d been trying to get the courage to call Dylan for the last few days. He often sat alone in what used to be Emil’s room, staring at his phone. Emil’s old room was just what he expected from a young teen Emil. It was full of colour and life. In contrast to the elegant state of the rest of the house, it was bursting with personality. The walls were painted bright blue and orange, and posters were artistically placed here and there. Many were of skaters, the ones Emil must have admired at that age. Victor, Chris, Georgi… and Michele. Other posters were people he didn’t recognise, but they were posed with various extreme sporting equipment. Climbing, surfing, snowboarding, skiing. The room had remained untouched since Emil left it. He half expected, at any moment, that the young teen Emil would walk in. Full of innocence and naivety.

 

“Hm? That’s a very serious look.” Victor’s sudden voice made Michele jump. He looked up to see the Russian man with his head around the door of the room, raising his eyebrows in a curious look. Michele glared back halfheartedly.

 

“What’s it to you?”

 

“No need to be mad.” Victor smiled and came into the room. He looked around, and his expression turned nostalgic – even a little sad. His blue eyes lingered on the posters of himself. “Do you know why I’ve come to help you, against my family’s wishes? Despite only meeting Emil once?”

 

Michele looked up at Victor from his seat on the edge of the bed. He shrugged. Victor laughed softly.

 

“It’s because he reminds me of myself. When I was young, I was expected to follow in the family business. I was trained hard from a young age. But that wasn’t where my heart was. My heart was on the ice. Like Emil, I aspired to skate alongside my idols. My uncle agreed to let me skate as long as I worked for him behind the scenes. It was just little jobs, nothing special.” Victor’s smile had a little edge to it. It was frightening. “Emil… he’s who I would be if I hadn’t been so lucky. If my uncle had decided I was expendable. I admire his perseverance. I want to help him become the skater he was born to become.”

 

Michele looked at a poster of himself. It was from when he’d still been a teenager. It was still painful to think of what could have been, if it weren’t for the actions of the Nekolas and the Rossis.

 

“Who were you going to call?” Victor changed the subject with a charming smile. Michele had to admit, Victor was dangerously handsome.

 

“Someone I know in Turin. Alessandro killed his girlfriend, so he’s got a grudge. Emil told me he wants to kill Alessandro. He’d probably help us.” He turned the phone over in his hands. “But that was a while back. What if he doesn’t feel that way anymore? I don’t want to drag up painful memories or pressure him into activities which are… illegal.”

 

Victor hummed thoughtfully and leaned against the wall.

 

“If Alessandro had killed Emil, would you still want revenge?”

 

“Yes.” Michele answered immediately. There was no doubt in his mind. Victor chuckled lowly and headed to the door. There was no need for him to say anything else. Michele had his answer. When he called Dylan, he found that the Welsh man was – as suspected – still just as angry and just as ready for retaliation as he had been when Noa died. They made an agreement to talk again once Michele arrived back in Turin.

 

That didn’t happen for another two days. Michele was getting increasingly impatient. He knew getting irritated wouldn’t help anyone but his thoughts were so occupied by what Emil could be going through. The only positive to the situation was that it gave Michele more time to heal. He still had to lean on the cane for support but he could walk further distances and had learnt to push through the exhaustion. Sara – who had come to join him a few days after the Grand Prix Final – was clearly worried about him. She told him he was pushing himself too far. He knew he wasn’t pushing himself far enough.

 

Michele and Sara were met by their parents at the airport in Turin. The Nekolas had taken an earlier plane, so the older Crispinos wouldn’t be meeting the Nekolas until the afternoon. Antonio gathered his son into a big hug. For once, Michele didn’t mind. He needed a hug, especially one from someone as steadfast and unchangeable as his dad. His dad had always been a rock. His mum changed her mind from one moment to the next but Antonio had unwavering convictions.

 

Later that day, they met up with the Nekolas in the large back room of a café. It was the 19th of December, and there were Christmas decorations lining the streets. It made his heart sink. What if they didn’t get Emil back by Christmas? How could he possibly celebrate without Emil? Worse, that meant Emil would be spending Christmas in the company of someone like Alessandro. Or what if Emil was already… dead? How could Michele ever feel the joy of Christmas again without Emil?

 

The room had a long, square table. Soňa sat at one end, with Antonio at the other end with Silvia to his right. Sara had decided to stay in the café. She didn’t want to know what was going on, she said. It would only make her worry more. Michele sat across from his mother. Dylan sat next to him, with Victor next to Dylan. The Welshman looked weary. Tired, and much older, like he’d aged ten years because Noa was gone.

 

“I didn’t expect the head of any crime organisation to be a woman.” Silvia commented. It wasn’t a negative comment, just surprised. Pleasantly surprised, even. She had already met Soňa from the video call, already knew Soňa was the head of the family now. This must just be residual surprise. Silvia had been shaped by her experiences of being discriminated against in her workplace.

 

“I didn’t expect such a high-ranking officer to be a woman, either.” Soňa replied. The two of them stared at each other. It was an acknowledgement of their mutual respect for each other, an acknowledgement of each other’s struggles. A recognition that for all the ways they were different, they were also similar.

 

“There isn’t a lot we can pin on any of the Rossi family.” Antonio got straight to business, pulling out his file on the Rossis. “That’s the main problem, legally, dealing with them. They don’t get their hands dirty, and if they do, it’s covered up too well. It’ll be easier to drag up some tax evasion… or catch them in the act.” He glanced up at Soňa, meaningfully. They couldn’t prove that Emil had been kidnapped and taken there, so they had no grounds to go in and arrest.

 

“So you can launch a full scale raid and arrest… if you have proof of illegal activities.” Soňa surmised. “If I were my father this would be easy. I could sacrifice a few men and send them in to get shot. I’m not like that.” She rested her chin in her hands, a surprisingly young and feminine looking action from someone he’d come to view as a brash aunt of sorts. “Launching a full-scale attack would be risky.”

 

“It’s the best way of getting Emil out. Once we hear of the disturbance, we can have legal grounds to go in. We’ll warn you when we’re five minutes out, so you can make yourselves scarce before we arrive.” Antonio suggested. Soňa raised a sceptical eyebrow.

 

“Are you sure you can do all this without raising suspicions from your fellow officers?” She asked, looking from Antonio to Silvia and back.

 

“I’m sure.” Silvia spoke up. “Our twins didn’t get their acting skills from nowhere. You’re just going to have to trust us.”

 

The Nekolas – and Victor – looked varying shades of unsure and disgruntled at that. Trusting the police of all people was exactly the opposite of how they had all been raised. For their part, Michele’s parents didn’t look much happier about the situation. They had agreed to bend the rules and work together but it went against the morals they had been building throughout their careers. A tense silence swept over the room. Michele’s chair scraped against the floor loudly as he stood.

 

“None of us have to like working with each other. But I expect us all to get along, because I want us all to remember why we’re here.” He said. His voice wavered slightly. “Some day the Crispinos and the Nekolas will all be in-laws. There’s a good chance you’ll be spending time together in the future, regardless of your careers. We’re here to make that future possible.”

 

He choked up slightly when tears sprung unbidden to his eyes. He felt Emil's absence worse than ever, like a phantom pain in his chest. His fists clenched. He didn’t back down. He kept looking at the others around the table.

 

“If you can’t pull this off, we lose Emil.” He looked from the Nekolas to the Crispinos. “And if we lose Emil, you’ll lose _me_. I can’t… live without him. We’ve come too far already for things to end this way. I can’t get him back alone. For the first time, I’m relying on my family. All of my family.” He gave Soňa a meaningful look. “So let’s do this.”

 

Victor smiled brightly and clapped. Michele would feel patronised if Victor were anyone else, but he knew what Victor was like. The others looked to him. Whilst Soňa was older and more experienced, Victor’s experience being part of a bigger mafia was invaluable. No doubt he had already consulted his uncle.

 

“Well said, my friend.” The Russian man took out a notebook. It had cute pictures of poodles all over the cover. His smile transformed into a smirk of eager anticipation.

 

“Here’s the plan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I've been really busy. And Eurovision season is starting, so I'm going to be even more busy. There are only two more planned chapters to this though, so we're almost there :)


	25. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For courage, there must be something at stake. I come here with nothing to lose.”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

The room had been kept almost pitch black from the moment Emil arrived. He was sure by now that wherever he was, there were no windows. The darkness closed in on him, closer every day. He was suffocating. He needed to get away. Fly away, close in, fall into his mind, slip into fantasy, helped by whatever was in the needles they injected him with.

 

_He and Mickey were lying together in a field. The warm summer sun was-_

It was so cold. He wished they had left him some clothes. He wished he had a bed, or a blanket, or some other comfort to keep his pale skin from the hard floor.

 

_-catching on Mickey’s skin, giving it an ethereal bronze glow. Mickey’s face turned to him. He smiled, and the sunlight grew stronger. His eyes weren’t quite right, not quite the right shade of purple. They were shaded. Muted. Blurry. But it was enough. It had to be enough, because-_

It was so quiet. He heard nothing. Saw nothing through the suffocating darkness. Time meant nothing. He could have been here a day, a year, an hour, a decade. When the door finally opened above him he curled away but on the inside he was rejoicing because there was still someone out there, he wasn’t alone. He hung on to every word because it was better than silence – _so beautiful, so good for me, yes, puppy, cry more, there’s a good boy –_ he clung to touch – _slap, punch, cut, whip, burn, bite –_ because it was better than curling up alone, feverish and touch starved and clenching his fists and scratching his arms because his whole body craved contact.

 

_-he had to escape the real world, and even this plastic caricature of Mickey brought him comfort. Mickey’s lips were warm in his mind, kissed him slowly and steadily. They didn’t bite, they didn’t hurt. His voice was light and brash and soothing and everything Alessandro wasn’t. Mickey, even this fake, this illusion – with his artificial smiles and half-remembered face – was everything Emil needed but everything he didn’t have._

“Mickey…” He voice cracked, whispered in the gloom. “I need you…”

 

* * *

 

 

Michele’s skin prickled, every nerve alight with nauseating anxiety. Anything could go wrong. Everything could go wrong. By the end of the night he might have Emil back. But by the end of the night he might find himself being arrested by his own parents. Or dead. Yes, for all he knew, this could be his last day alive.

 

Soňa hadn’t bothered to argue with Michele about whether or not he was allowed to join the Nekolas. She knew she couldn’t stop him. All she could do was make sure he was prepared. She made Alexandr teach him how to work a gun. How to make decisions in a dangerous situation. How to keep himself safe. Michele was by no means a great shot. He hoped he wouldn’t have to fire the gun at all.

 

Dylan took part in this last-minute training, too. Dylan was better at this sort of thing than Michele. Maybe it was because he was already so strong – the Welshman was tall and broad. Or maybe it was because Dylan’s motivation was so different. Revenge vs rescue. Michele wanted to avoid killing anyone, not because he didn’t want the Rossis to suffer, but rather because he might get caught. He had too much to lose. Dylan had nothing to lose. Alessandro wasn’t the head of the family, but he was the first son. The next in line to inherit. Killing him might put Dylan in danger.

 

During a break in target practice, Michele tried his best to convince Dylan not to be reckless. Noa wouldn’t want Dylan to waste his life in prison. Dylan just stared at Michele, his green eyes empty, and then shifted to look at the targets.

 

“Life, eh? Sorry, boyo. My life already ended a while ago.”

 

And that was that. They didn’t talk after that. It was unnecessary. Dylan had his incentive. Michele had his. It was as simple and as lonely as that.

 

The day of the raid, in the endless hours of waiting between waking up and nightfall, Michele found himself with an unusual ally. The Nekolas were busy and his parents had gone to work. Sara had gone to visit a friend to calm her nerves and take her mind off things. All of Michele’s friends were abroad or were… well, in the claws of a monster, in Emil’s case. But someone was determined that he shouldn’t be alone. Victor. It was strange to finally get to know the man. They had been skating against each other for years but Victor was always swamped by the media and Michele made a point to never make friends, or talk to anyone who wasn’t Sara. Victor was scatterbrained in the right places, cheerful, and dangerous when it mattered most. He roped Michele into – of all things – a tour of Turin. He dragged Michele from tourist trap to tourist trap, enthusiastically Instagramming anything he thought was worthy.

 

“Won’t it be suspicious to your followers that you’re in Turin?” Michele asked as Victor took a selfie with the Castello di Rivoli Museum of Contemporary Art. Victor hummed thoughtfully and then retook the selfie, this time including Michele’s grumpy face.

 

“I’ll just say I’m visiting you~”

 

For all Michele found Victor annoying, he had to admit it felt good to be distracted. Victor made sure he ate, made sure he stayed hydrated, and more importantly made sure he didn’t think about what was about to happen.

 

They arrived back at the hotel as the sun began to set. Several of the Nekolas had already left – since it would be suspicious to all leave together. Michele’s hands shook as he got ready. Dark clothes, naturally. He’d been told in great confidence by Victor that he was one of the few men who could pull off a black turtleneck. He looked at himself in the mirror with a frown. It didn’t matter if he looked good. It mattered that it was practical. He strapped his borrowed gun to his waist.

 

“Are you ready?” Victor was leaning against the doorframe. Michele jumped. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Victor was dressed in a black suit, with black leather gloves. He was dangerously attractive. Michele wondered if Yuri ever got to see him like this.

 

“As I’ll ever be.” Michele replied weakly. Victor’s smile was steady and reassuring. Victor knew what he was doing. He was Michele’s liferaft in the ocean.

 

An hour later, they were sitting in Dylan’s car, on what looked like an ordinary street. There was just a single streetlight, at the end. Number 49, halfway down, was their target. It looked just like number 47, just like number 51. Just like all the other houses on the street. If Michele hadn’t already been told it was the base for a mafia organisation, he would have glanced right past it. That was probably the point.

 

The plan was for a smaller, skilled team to gain entry from the back, and then let everyone else in from the front. The skilled team could take out the most dangerous people and then cause a commotion – by letting in the front team – to get neighbours to call the police. In the confusion, Michele could search for Emil. In the most ideal situation he would find Emil quickly and they would all get out of there with their lives before the police turned up. The aim wasn’t to defeat the Rossis. It was to let the police defeat the Rossis.

 

Michele’s fingers clenched tight around his phone, waiting for the signal. Several more cars were parked down the street. Other men and women, in the employment of the Nekolas. Some had years of experience. Michele had about two days of experience. And it hadn’t been very long since he’d been shot. He still tired easily, the breath knocked out of him with more than a few minutes of walking. It was frustrating, but right now he had to rely on everyone else. Alessandro’d had Emil for a week now. He tried not to think about what that could mean.

 

Suddenly, his phone beeped. A text from an unknown number. The signal. Victor was the first out of the car and running up the street, followed by Dylan’s well-muscled form. Michele froze for a split second before he followed. He shook off the sudden shock of the cold winter air and tucked his phone safely away in his pocket. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest, as if it were trying to escape this desperate situation.

 

The front door opened as Victor and some of the Nekola men reached it. Jarek was on the other side, and he shamelessly winked at Victor before he stepped aside to let everyone in. As soon as Michele entered, the sound of gunfire assaulted him. He’d been lucky – _really not the right word_ – that when he’d been shot, he had passed out almost immediately. He never heard the shot, and he never came to associate the sound with pain. The walls of the house must be soundproof, he realised. From the outside, none of the uproar inside could be heard.

 

His earpiece fizzled to life. Pavla’s voice found him through the static.

 

“Mickey, we’re getting reports that there might be a basement. That sounds like a great place to keep a prisoner. Victor, you go with him. We haven’t found Alessandro yet. Be careful. Dylan, there’s an attic space too. You go there. Soňa has Alessandro’s father pinned down in the master bedroom, so avoid that area.”

 

Pavla began to guide Michele and Victor through the house through the earpiece. It was a TARDIS of a house. Bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. And around every corner and every door there seemed to be an enemy. He saw Victor’s cold, vicious side come to life. It was as if Victor were a wild animal. Not only did he kill with chilling precision, but he was clearly _enjoying_ it. A broad, enraptured smile bloomed on his face with every bullet he landed between the eyes of a Rossi bodyguard. Michele stuck to Victor’s back, keeping an eye out for stragglers but unendingly grateful that Victor was taking care of everything. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to watch Victor skate again without thinking of the look in his eyes. The look of a man who found pleasure in the deaths of his enemies.

 

“I’m glad you’re on my side.” Michele muttered. He held his gun in his right hand, loosely, but the safety was off and he was ready if he needed to be. And suddenly, he needed to be. One of the enemies they had already passed seemed to come back to life like a puppet on a string, pulled up by invisible force to aim her gun at the two of them. Michele gasped, his heart in his throat, his hands sweaty and fumbling, his arms raising. He aimed and fired, skimming the woman’s arm with his bullet. It distracted her enough for Victor to turn and land a headshot. Her brains decorated the wall with macabre artistry. Victor looked at Michele and his smile changed into that _damn_ heart smile as if they were just two friends playing Mario Kart and Michele had just won a particularly tough race.

 

“Wow~ that was kind of impressive for a newbie!” The Russian man _laughed_ and turned back to the task at hand, his long delicate fingers reloading as he strode forward.

 

A shudder went down Michele’s spine. He wondered if Emil could ever have become like this.

 

The door in question, which led to the basement, was being guarded by two Rossis. Victor dispatched them without his gruesome smile. It seemed the thrill of killing had worn off some, and now that they were closer to their target, Victor deemed it more appropriate to be serious and uncaring. Michele wasn’t sure if this total disregard for human life was better or worse.

 

Victor opened the door and went down first. The basement was so dark that even with the lights from the hallway above, they couldn’t see anything at the bottom. The temperature dropped with every step down. Victor was silent as the grave. Even his steps were ghostly quiet. Michele followed, keeping his steps light. The only sounds that reached his ears were his own nervous breaths.

 

Michele almost ran into Victor when they reached the bottom. Victor steadied him. If he squinted, he could just about make out the Russian man’s face. He looked worried.

 

“I don’t like this.” Victor whispered. He pressed a finger to his earpiece. Michele did the same. Static greeted him. They were cut off from Pavla and the others. Michele was about to step back and run for backup when a voice interrupted his movements. The words were Italian.

 

“Leaving so soon, Mr Crispino?”

 

His blood ran cold. All of a sudden the lights were turned on. And not just one light, either, but several lights, overhead and all along the walls. A muted cry brought his attention to the corner of the room. He squinted until his eyes got used to the bright lights, and then froze in place.

 

Sitting in the corner of the room, his back against the wall, was a man. From the way his frame folded, he was tall. His hair was black as coal and it was tied to one side in a short ponytail. A cruel smirk twisted his face. Michele had thought Victor’s grin was sadistic, but this man… no, this monster, was beyond that. And there, in his arms, was Emil. He was curled up, shivering and whining, his palms pressed to his eyes. His naked skin was paler than Michele had ever seen it, and was littered with blood and bruises and – _fuck_ – bite marks. Someone had shaved his beard off. Trapped between the legs of a monster, with his nails digging into his forehead and a _gun pressed against his head, fuck_ – Emil looked smaller than ever. As if all six feet of him had been condensed down into a quivering child.

 

“Oh, this is a surprise.” The man – Alessandro, it must be, because who else could it be? – switched to English upon seeing Victor. “Victor Nikiforov, isn’t it? I can’t say I’ve ever been a skating fan, but it’s hard to research Michele Crispino without your name cropping up, as famous as you are. I must say, you’re much prettier in person. It’s a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

 

Alessandro’s hazel eyes darkened with something repulsive, as if his dark fantasies were running through his mind and threatening to break free. Michele, arm-to-arm with Victor, felt the Russian man repress a shudder.

 

“I wish I could say the same, Alessandro.” Victor’s gaze shifted from Alessandro to the gun which was pressed to the top of Emil’s head. Alessandro raised an eyebrow, and Victor slowly lowered his gun. Alessandro chuckled.

 

“Come now, you can do better than that. Drop them, both of you. It would be a shame to have to put down this puppy, but I’ve always wondered what his brains would look like against my skin.”

 

Michele bent down to put his gun on the floor, following Victor’s lead. He felt sick. Emil wasn’t responding to anything around them. He was clearly in pain from the lights.

 

“Don’t worry about him.” Alessandro went on airily. “I’ve kept him in the dark since he got here. His eyes might be a little… sensitive. Oh, I’m sorry. Eye, singular. I already put the other out of commission a while ago, didn’t I?”

 

Michele’s fists clenched and he growled, taking an unconscious step forwards. Alessandro had hurt Emil again, was hurting him right now, had killed Emil’s best friend, and he was _right there, if only I could get my hands on that bastard-!_

 

“What do you hope to get out of this?” Victor spoke up again before Michele had time to get too angry. “You have him and us at gunpoint, but you must have heard what’s going on above. You’re not going to get out of this.”

 

“Maybe you’re right.” Alessandro hummed, as if they were discussing the weather. “But I’m not stupid. The Nekolas don’t have the firepower to take this place. I’ll bet your plan was to get the police involved, since dear Michele’s parents are in the police. It’s a solid plan. I wouldn’t even mind going to prison. You know I’ll get out again in a couple of years.” He shook his head and chuckled. Emil visibly shuddered and tried to shy away. “But I don’t think Soňa Nekola would let me live after all the things I’ve done to her precious baby brother. So how about this… I trade dear Emil for safe passage into the arms of the police. Everyone wins.”

 

It should have been an easy decision. Michele hadn’t wanted Alessandro dead before he came here. He’d wanted him to suffer for the rest of his life in prison. But now he realised that wasn’t possible. Firstly, because Alessandro would never spend the rest of his life in prison. He was rich. He’d killed sex workers who were – in the view of society – worthless. Soňa would kill Alessandro’s father, get the rest of the family arrested, but Alessandro would still inherit all that wealth. He could easily build the family up from nothing. And then more people like Emil would suffer. Secondly, it wasn’t possible because Michele was _fucking pissed._ Every flinch and shudder and whine from Emil sent more waves of anger through him.

 

Alessandro couldn’t be allowed to live.

 

Victor started to negotiate with Alessandro – buying more time, he assumed. Someone would come down here eventually. But Michele tuned them out. He focused on Emil. The first step would be to get Emil out of the situation. Emil was peeking at Michele through his fingers (most of the fingers seemed to be broken, and Michele silently vowed to dance on Alessandro’s grave).

 

“Ahoj, Emmy. Jak se máš?” Michele asked softly as he sat down. He figured Czech was the best way to break past the terrified look in Emil’s eyes. Alessandro held Emil a little tighter, but didn’t tell Michele to stop talking. So he kept talking.

 

“Jmenuji se Mickey. Pamatuješ si?” He tested the waters. He was worried that Emil, in this state, would have forgotten him. But as soon as he said his name, something washed over Emil’s face. Not quite relief, but something close.

 

“M… Mickey…” Emil whispered. He focused on Michele, never glancing up at the man who had him trapped. “P…Potřebuji vaši… pomoc. Jsem ztracen.”

 

_I need you help. I’m lost._

“To je v pořádku. Jsem tu.” Michele said firmly. _It’s okay. I’m here._ He couldn’t let his fear show in his voice. He had to be strong right now until they found a way out of this situation. Alessandro looked distracted, so Michele risked moving closer. If he stretched out his arm, he could probably grab Emil. But he couldn’t risk it when Alessandro had a gun and he didn’t. He jumped when something fizzed to life in his ear. His thoughts were moving too rapidly for his brain to recognise the voice.

 

_“Michele, Victor. I’m at the top of the stairs in the cellar. He can’t see or hear me from here and I’ve got a clear enough shot, but I need you to move Emil quickly out of the way on my signal. Otherwise I might hit him instead. Can you do that? Nod if you can, Michele. Victor, keep him distracted.”_

Michele took in a deep breath. He smiled reassuringly at Emil. There was no doubt that Emil might panic if he was suddenly grabbed, but there wasn’t a choice. It was now or never.

 

“Věříš mi?” He asked. _Do you trust me?_

Emil slowly moved his hands away from his face and looked at Michele properly, openly, showing every vulnerability he’d ever hidden away.

 

“Ano.” _Yes._

Michele took another deep breath and, still looking at Emil, nodded subtly.

 

_“Good. I’m going to count down from three. When I say ‘now’, Michele grabs Emil, pulls him out of the way, and I take the shot. Victor, you’d best grab your gun from the floor at the same time, just in case I miss.”_

_“Three.”_ Michele’s right hand twitched.

 

_“Two.”_ He shifted slightly, into a more stable position, ready to pull Emil away and down.

 

_“One.”_ He tensed, coiled like a spring. Alessandro, noticing the conversation between Michele and Emil had stopped, started to shift his gaze from Victor to Michele.

 

_“NOW!”_

Like a venomous cobra striking at prey, or like a cat saving her kitten from a cliff, or like a _human pulling his lover from the jaws of the beast,_ Michele struck. He grabbed Emil’s wrist and pulled hard, quickly wrenching him from between Alessandro’s legs and down towards his own chest. With his other hand he shielded Emil’s head, where – not a split second before – the barrel of the gun had rested. Michele saw the glint of that gun in the harsh lights, aimed directly at him and Emil. Whoever was at the top of the stairs was faster. With an ear-splitting bang above them, a bloody hole opened up in Alessandro’s throat and began to gush. His strength seemed to leave him, and he dropped the gun with a harmless clatter to the floor. Michele watched with morbid fascination. He pressed Emil’s face to his shoulder. Emil had seen enough blood.

 

Alessandro made a gross gurgling sound, his eyes moving from Michele to watch the figure descend the stairs. Michele looked up to watch, too. It was Dylan. The tall Welshman strode forward to stand above Alessandro’s dying form.

 

“You killed my girlfriend. Although I doubt you even remember. You don’t deserve to remember. A man like you… is far below a woman like her. This won’t bring her back.” Dylan looked half dead under the bright lights of the basement. The life had been sucked out of him by grief. Michele swallowed. That had almost been him. If Emil had died instead of Noa, it would have been him standing there over Alessandro. “…But maybe now I can finally sleep.”

 

With that, he fired the gun again. Alessandro had been trying to say something, but now he slumped against the wall, dead. Dylan hadn’t given him the chance at last words. Good. Alessandro hadn’t deserved them.

 

Dylan stripped Alessandro of his jeans and held them out to Michele. He hated the idea of Emil wearing Alessandro’s clothes, but he didn’t want Emil to be naked anymore. He gently coaxed a shivering Emil into them. Emil hadn’t struggled when he was grabbed – in fact, now he was clinging to Michele like his life depended on it.

 

Victor had gone back up the stairs at some point to talk to the others. Now he called down to them.

 

“We have to go! Your parents have given the five minute warning, Mickey!”

 

Michele cursed and stood, but Emil collapsed when he tried to stand. Glancing down, Michele could see why. The Czech teen’s feet were covered in deep lacerations, and the toes were definitely broken. A few seemed to be… missing entirely. He shook his head of the sickening thoughts that came to mind. Later. Right now, they needed to get out.

 

Emil was far too light. It helped carrying him (since Emil was so tall) but it was clear he’d barely been fed at all whilst he had been here. Trusting Victor and Dylan to have his back, he carried Emil up the stairs. The battle was still raging in parts of the house as the Nekolas retreated. They met up with Soňa at the back door. She frowned when she saw Emil.

 

“You know we’re supposed to leave him here.” She said. Part of the plan was that they left Emil in a safe place where the Crispinos could immediately find him and help him. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to arrest the remaining Rossi family members, since they wouldn’t have anything to charge them with. Michele glared and pointedly glanced down at Emil’s hand, desperately clenched in his shirt.

 

“I’m not leaving him. I told him to trust me. I can’t break that trust now.”

 

Soňa narrowed her eyes. She was intimidating – her expression, the blood on her clothes, screamed that she was not to be messed with. But Michele wasn’t going to back down. He had left Emil behind too many times. He held Emil tighter.

 

“I’ll stay.” Another voice piped up. For a split second he was terrified it was Emil, but he looked up to see Pavla with her hand pressed to her chest. She was bleeding. She continued before Michele could reply. “I’ve been shot. I don’t think it hit anything important. I would make the perfect victim. I’m a blind, attractive foreigner. I’ll tell the police they kidnapped me to sell me. We’ll get some witnesses to say they haven’t seen me for a week.”

 

“What if you fucking bleed out before the Crispinos get here? Or the Crispinos decide to betray us and arrest you?” Alexandr spat some blood on the grass and shot Michele a suspicious look. He liked Michele, but Antonio and Silvia were another story.

 

“We don’t have time to debate this. We’re going to have to trust the Crispinos.” Soňa made the judgement call. She got close to Michele, right in his face, and whispered lowly. “If your parents put one scratch on my sister, they’re dead. Do you understand?”

 

Michele swallowed and nodded.

 

“I understand.”

 

With the sound of sirens in the distance, rapidly approaching, the group took their leave. Pavla rested against the back of the house, her pained expression giving away her injury. She kept her gun with her in case the remaining Rossis thought to check the back of the house before the police arrived. Michele wondered what the hell a blind woman could do with a gun, but the Nekolas wouldn’t leave her if they didn’t think she could handle it.

 

They scrambled to the cars. Michele, Emil, Victor and Dylan had to circle around to the front of the house to get into Dylan’s car. Dylan started the car and drove off just as the police were rounding the corner. Michele still held Emil to his chest. He could feel the frantic heartbeat against his own, fluttering like a panicked bird. Emil’s long legs stretched out over the backseat. The car was silent.

 

Dylan dropped them off at the hospital and then drove away. Michele watched the car disappear from view and wondered if he would ever see Dylan again.

 

Prying Emil away from him and into the care of the doctors and nurses proved a challenge. He eventually managed it by pressing his lips to Emil’s forehead and promising him that they would see each other again soon. Michele settled into an uncomfortable chair to wait with Victor.

 

“You were brave back there. For a man with no training in this sort of thing.” Victor commented. He had his phone out and was smiling at it softly. Michele knew that look. The look of love. He must be texting Katsuki.

 

“I didn’t feel very brave.” Michele frowned at his shoes. He had been nervous the whole time. He had almost lost his composure several times. It had taken every ounce of his courage and his love for Emil to drive him forwards. And now he was exhausted. He had forgotten about his healing bullet wound when he was carrying Emil. His shirt felt sticky. His stitches – and they’d been almost healed, too – had probably come undone. “I was terrified.”

 

“That’s not what courage really means.” Victor chuckled and looked up from his phone. “To me, courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s moving forward despite that fear. Overcoming it. You might say I was brave back there, but it wasn’t anything different to me. Skating in the Grand Prix Final isn’t anything new to me, so it’s not brave. Yuri… he has a lot of anxiety, he was scared, but he skated anyway. That’s brave. _You’re_ brave.”

 

Michele looked up from his shoes to look at Victor. He couldn’t help the grateful, shaky smile that overcame his face. How did Victor always know what to say?

 

After an hour had passed, Michele was allowed in to see Emil. There wasn’t any surgery needed but the nurses had lost count of the number of stitches. There was going to be a lot of scarring. With his feet in such a state, there was a good chance that Emil would never achieve his dream of skating professionally. They had sedated him at some point, but his bloodwork showed he had been drugged during his captivity. It would take some time to ween Emil off the drugs and they had to be careful not to let him become addicted. As a result of his built up resistance to the drugs, he started to come around sooner than anyone expected. Sooner than Michele was ready for. When Emil groaned and shifted, Michele felt his heartbeat stutter. What would he say? What _could_ he say? What if Emil was angry, that Michele let him get hurt again? What if Emil had changed, what if he wasn’t Emil anymore? What if-

 

“Wh…what’s… with that w-worried look… huh…?”

 

Michele jumped and looked at Emil, who was blinking at him tiredly. Emil looked pale and tired, his cheeks sunken and his eyes rimmed with grey. His bruises and stitched-up cuts stood out on his white skin, and he looked younger without the beard. The lights in the room had been dimmed to account for Emil’s sensitive eye. Outside, the city went about its usual nightlife. Not even a year before, Emil would have been out there too, on the cold street. Michele looked from Emil to the window and back. Then, unbidden, he started to cry.

 

“Fuck, Emil. I…I was so _scared._ This is it, right?” He brought Emil’s hand up to kiss each long finger. “This is the end? It has to be. I can’t… take any more of this… I can’t…”

 

He took five minutes, then, just to cry. Just to get his own insecurities and fears out of his system. Emil didn’t say anything. He moved to cup Michele’s cheek and wiped his tears. Eventually Michele calmed down.

 

“I’m sorry. I should be the one comforting you. I have no idea what… you must have gone through back there.” Michele frowned with guilt. Emil had been in the clutches of Alessandro for a whole week. It must have been awful. And yet here Michele was, crying. “How are you feeling?”

 

Emil sighed slowly and dropped his hand, looking unsure.

 

“I-I don’t remember a lot… I don’t… th-think I really want to.” He frowned, seeming unable to stop stuttering. Repressing everything like that might help now, but Michele didn’t think it would be healthy in the long run. “I just k-kept th-thinking about you. How much I n-needed you. I imagined I was somewhere else… anywhere else, with y-you. But it’s… like you s-said. It’s the end, isn’t it? It’s over?”

 

The shadows on Emil’s face cleared for a moment. A light shone through, a tiny spark. It was small, but it was something. It didn’t make everything alright. It didn’t make _anything_ alright. But like the fog clearing on a battlefield, it gave Michele hope. Hope that bit by bit, the nightmares would ease away like ink washed from the writer’s hands. He clung to it. He clung to the tiny smile that shone through the darkness, and he smiled back. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Emil’s, and they were both smiling against each other. He rested his forehead on Emil’s. He didn’t think it was possible to love anyone as much as he loved Emil right now.

 

“Yeah. It’s over.”

 

They may have won the battle. Hell, they may have even won the war. But they had yet to win their future. That was okay, he decided. They would get there. Step by step. Hand in hand. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, hope is a strange thing. Peace at last. But at what price?”  
> ― Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading this far! There's just one more chapter to come. It's been a real journey. Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos, as always :) the final chapter will probably be up in a couple of weeks. In that I'll be including my list of one-shot Mickey/Emil ideas for you all to vote on, so don't miss it~  
> P.S I'm sorry if any of the Czech is wrong. I'm not Czech. Blame google translate!


	26. A Person of Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A story is like a moving train: no matter where you hop onboard, you are bound to reach your destination sooner or later.”   
> ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for this chapter - it contains spoilers for the book A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. If you plan to read it and don't want to be spoiled, stop reading at 'So whilst Mickey slept next to him' and start again two paragraphs later at 'Emil looked beside him'. 
> 
> The two songs used in the skates here are Francesca Michielin's No Degree of Separation and Carl Espen's Silent Storm, in case you wanted to listen whilst reading the skates :)

Emil really wished Mickey was awake. Planes didn’t make him nervous but they _did_ make him bored. Usually he’d bother Mickey, or Sara, or whoever else happened to be on the flight. But almost everyone was seated near the back of the plane and he wasn’t about to get up to talk to them, not when Mickey’s head was resting so perfectly on his shoulder. It was a great angle to watch Mickey’s sleeping face. Mickey looked peaceful, his usually tense face relaxed as he dreamed. Emil hoped they were good dreams. The nightmares had slowly lessened over the last two years, for both of them. But occasionally Mickey still woke in a cold sweat, whimpering and clinging to Emil as if Emil were about to disappear forever. This inevitably woke Emil up, but he never complained. He would run his hand through Mickey’s hair and down his back and assure him – in low, soothing tones – that he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Emil’s nightmares were more violent. He even gave Mickey a black eye once with his thrashing. His whole body became consumed, possessed, with the purpose of escaping whoever had him pinned down in his mind. On nights like those Mickey had to shake him hard to wake him. Waking from those terrors to someone touching him was often too much, and Emil usually spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, curled in on himself on the cold floor. The next day he’d scramble back into the bedroom and hug Mickey almost painfully tight, feeling touch-starved and guilty. Mickey never held it against him.

 

Gradually these occurrences lessened. They never stopped entirely. Emil doubted they ever would. But right now it was clear from the serenity on Mickey’s face that the nightmares were staying away.

 

Emil smiled gently at his resting partner and opened his book. 

 

He was interrupted from his reading half an hour later by the announcement that the plane was landing. This woke Mickey up. The Italian man groaned and nuzzled Emil’s neck adorably. Emil laughed, though he helped Mickey up once the plane had landed. He was rewarded with a soft kiss to the cheek, which made him feel gooey inside.

 

Mickey and Emil waited to one side as people filed off the plane. It didn’t take much to spot their entourage. Aila’s bright ginger hair stood out like a sore thumb as she departed the plane. Her short height meant she looked out of place even amongst Sara, Wolfram, and Mickey’s parents.

 

“Shit, Emil. Ah ken ye said it’d be cold but ye did’nae say it would be _snowin’_.” Aila grumbled and looked up at the sky. She had been used to snow back in Scotland but having lived in Italy for so long she’d gotten used to warmer temperatures. It was her and Wolfram’s first visit to Prague, and their first time watching a skating competition in person. Two years ago, after the collapse of the Rossi family, they’d been left with few options. Then Chris had swooped in, with his charity. Aila was still a recovering alcoholic but with Chris’ help she now had a job as a sports photographer. She mostly photographed rugby and football but with encouragement from Mickey and Sara, she was starting out on winter sports too. Wolfram still did sex work, but he worked independently, for himself. He was empowered by it. He earnt good money and Chris helped him learn how best to keep himself safe. Emil was just glad they were both happy.

 

The Crispinos had been a big help, too. Neither Wolfram nor Aila had parents to speak of, so the Crispinos took on those roles – having moved to Turin to be closer to the twins. They invited the two over to dinner, called and texted to ask about their days, and provided a sympathetic ear. The whole situation two years ago had changed Silvia for the better. She listened more and judged less.

 

Both of them had helped Emil out a lot, too. He made the decision early on that he would stay in Turin with Mickey. He missed his family but he couldn’t recover without his boyfriend’s support. Sara decided to move in with a friend to give Emil and Mickey some space, but they still saw a lot of her. Especially in the evenings, when Antonio and Silvia often invited them all over, or came over to cook. Silvia provided him with the familiar love of a mother, warm hugs that made him wish his own mother wasn’t so far away. Antonio’s love was unfamiliar. He had never been provided with fatherly love, and for a long time he tried to avoid Antonio because it was frightening. What if Antonio didn’t really love him? What if Antonio left, or suddenly rejected him?

 

But gradually he got used to it, and then he enjoyed it. The friendly advice, the unsolicited dad jokes, the kind hand on his shoulder or back. One evening, just over a year after the fall of the Rossis, he and Antonio had been doing the dishes together in Emil and Mickey’s apartment. It was New Year’s eve, and Emil was watching the clock above the sink. The celebrations and fireworks had passed. It was almost 2am.

 

“Are you going to make any New Year’s resolutions?” Antonio asked curiously. Emil hummed and glanced back down to the plate he was cleaning.

 

“I think so. I think I’m going to try being more honest. W-Well, it’s not like I lie all that much.” He laughed nervously. “More like, I want to say what’s on my mind more. My therapist said it would be good for me.”

 

Antonio smiled back, open and happy.

 

“That sounds like a good idea.”

 

There was a short pause as Emil tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. He cleared his throat.

 

“Actually, there’s… something I want to say. To you. I’ve been meaning to say for a while, but…” He trailed off. Antonio didn’t say anything, but his hands paused in the sink. “…I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. And that I really wish…” His eyes filled with tears and he hurriedly blinked them away. His voice cracked anyway. “…I really wish I’d had a dad like you growing up. And now I do, because you’re so good to me. So just… yeah. Thanks.”

 

He was surprised by the feeling of Antonio’s arms around him. The back of his shirt was getting wet with water from Antonio’s hands, but he didn’t care. He hugged back and sniffed. Wetness on his shoulder proved he wasn’t the only one crying.

 

“And I’m glad you’re my son, Emil.” He pulled back and grinned. “Maybe some day soon you can be my _official_ son-in-law, eh?”

 

Emil had flushed bright red and returned to the dishes as Antonio laughed.

 

To his surprise, there were about a dozen or so reporters at the airport, waiting for the group at the gate. Emil froze momentarily, his hand squeezing Mickey’s. Then, parting the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea, Victor emerged at the front of the crowd with Yuri and Yurio in tow. Victor waved enthusiastically at Emil’s group, and in turn gained the gaze of the media. In the ensuing confusion, Yuri steered them towards the entrance with an apologetic smile.

 

“You know how the media are. With this being Mickey’s first Grand Prix Final back from being shot and you…” He smiled and gestured to Emil. “…You know.” He finished without really explaining, but he didn’t have to.

 

Over the last two years, Victor and Yuri – and Yurio too, although the kid was notoriously hard to befriend – had become valued confidants. Victor and Yuri knew the full extent of what Emil and Mickey had been though. They could find solutions to problems Mickey and Emil hadn’t even thought about. Ally families of the Rossis were dealt with by Victor with a chilling smile and a promise to bring down the full wrath of his family if any of them so much as looked the wrong way at the Crispinos or Nekolas. Yuri was knowledgeable on finding ways to surmount anxiety and he pushed Emil into therapy. Without that insistence he probably would have put it off forever.

 

Yurio was helpful too, in surprising ways. He gave them tips on how to avoid the media. And it was necessary, once the press found out that Michele Crispino’s long-rumoured secret boyfriend was Emil Nekola, the junior skating star who had mysteriously disappeared many years prior. Although Emil and Mickey steadfastly ignored any advice from Yurio that involved escaping via motorbikes driven by Kazaks.  

 

The Crispinos, Aila, Wolfram, Victor, Yuri, Yurio, Chris and the Nekolas all spent the evening in the dining room of the hotel. Emil could have stayed with his mother and siblings – he almost did, he missed them so much – but he wanted to have the full experience. It was a Grand Prix final. If Mickey and the other skaters were going to sleep in big plushy hotel beds, then so would he. After all, he couldn’t let Mickey be alone in such a big bed.

 

The next morning, Emil woke with his arm around Mickey’s waist. Mickey was on his back, with Emil koala hugging him. It was early, very early, since their alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He squeezed a little tighter and Mickey hummed.

 

“Oh. You’re awake.”

 

Emil glanced up to see Mickey’s face. It was clear Mickey had been awake for a while, watching him. He felt a hand stroke lazily through his hair. The hand disappeared to turn off their alarm when it started up.

 

“How long have you been up?” Emil asked. Instead of getting up, he nuzzled closer. The hand returned to its wonderful job of petting Emil’s head.

 

“Not long. I didn’t want to wake you. But now we really do have to get up.”

 

Emil groaned and slowly peeled himself away from Mickey. He pouted and stared down at Mickey’s bare chest. It was toned and bronzed, an expanse of temptation. He gave in and ran a hand down Mickey’s chest to his navel.

 

“How much would everyone hate us if we just stayed in bed?” He mused. Mickey rolled his eyes and batted Emil’s hand away, but the blush on his cheeks didn’t fade.

 

“A lot. You’d hate yourself for it too.” Mickey rolled out of bed and padded across the room. “You don’t want to miss a minute of this, Em.”

 

Later that day, whilst Emil watched Chris skate – Mickey would be next – he glanced down at his phone to see a text from Dylan. The sight made him smile broadly. After spending a year in a drunken haze after Noa’s funeral in New Zealand, Dylan had finally pulled himself up and tried to move on with his life. He had bought a sheep farm in New Zealand and was living a quiet life alone with his animals. It sounded peaceful. The clear air and beautiful mountains made Dylan feel close to Noa. He said if he closed his eyes and listened, he could almost imagine she was there with him.

 

‘Hope you and the others have fun today. I’ll be watching on the telly x’

 

This was followed by a picture of Dylan on the sofa with a cup of tea, one of his lambs beside him. Dylan had a soft spot for the weakest lambs and would take them into his home for one-on-one care to make sure none of them died. It was sweet. And it was sad, because Emil knew exactly why Dylan couldn’t bare having any of his fluffy lambs die. An image of Noa’s fluffy, curly hair flashed in Emil’s mind before being interrupted by the end of Chris’ skate. He cheered loudly.

 

His heart leapt to his throat when Mickey took to the ice. Mickey had worked so hard to get here. He had to recover from his physical issues first, and that was hard enough – but after what had happened in Russia, Mickey still had a psychological aversion to skating rinks. It took time to overcome it. Mickey had participated in competitions the year after everything had ended, but he hadn’t even come close to qualifying for the Grand Prix Final. Now, two years later, Mickey was on fine form again. There was no indication he’d ever come close to dying on the ice. Emil was probably the only one who knew just how much effort it had taken for Mickey to get to this level.

 

When he had been choosing his songs for his skates, he’d tried to find songs that connected to their journey. From strangers to friends to lovers to soulmates. The song Michele had chosen for his short programme spoke of Mickey’s loneliness before they had met. How Mickey had rarely felt emotions other than anger, rarely left the house, rarely socialised. And then, how meeting Emil changed it all. The music began, and Mickey – dressed in sinful dark red – began to skate.

 

_È la prima volta che mi capita/It’s the first time it’s happened to me_

 

Mickey’s expression was hopeless and confused, playing the part of that young Mickey who had been losing faith in himself. He glided across the ice and, with the next line, moved in on himself – low and small, trying to push his emotions away.

 

_Prima mi chiudevo in una scatola/Before I shut myself in a box_

_Sempre un po’ distante dalle cose della vita/Always a bit distant from the things of life_

_Perché così profondamente non l’avevo mai sentita/Because I had never felt them too deeply_

 

Mickey moved up as the music changed key, skated into a faster step sequence, and the most beautiful smile bloomed on his face.

 

_E poi ho sentito un’emozione/And then I felt an emotion_

_Accendersi veloce e farsi strada nel mio petto/Lighting fast and making itself a path in my chest_

_Senza spegnere la voce/Without turning off its voice_

_E non sentire più tensione, solo vita dentro di me/And I don’t feel tension anymore, only life inside me_

 

He launched himself into the first jumps on the last note of the first verse. Emil had seen it all before, many times by now. He leaned forward over the barrier, entranced as always. Mickey landed the jumps. Of course he did. The chorus began. Mickey’s movements were fluid, like water, beautiful and refined and everything Emil had always known Mickey to be, even when Mickey didn’t believe it himself.

_Nessun grado di separazione/No degree of separation_

_Nessun tipo di esitazione/No type of hesitation_

_Non c’è più nessuna divisione/There is no longer any division_

_Fra di noi/Between us_

 

Mickey made eye contact as he skated past Emil. Tears came to his eyes, obscuring Mickey for a moment before he blinked them away. Mickey pushed into the next jumps of the routine.

 

The chorus gave way to the second verse, and Emil remembered when Mickey had first decided on this song. It had been about nine months ago. He had already chosen the song for his free skate, but he was struggling on his short. The two of them had sat down in the flat together, snuggled on the sofa, and put youtube on shuffle. Youtube would play the next recommended song based on what they’d listened to in the past. It was easy to tell what was recommended from Emil’s music and what was recommended from Mickeys. Emil’s songs were usually upbeat, and it was mostly early 2000s pop and rock. He’d also been catching up on all the Eurovision he’d missed whilst under the thumb of the Rossis. He had been disappointed to find that the Czech Republic had withdrawn after 2009 due to placing last with the dreaded _nul points._ And because they’d, uh, placed in the bottom two in 2008 and 2007, too. But thankfully, they had returned in 2015.

 

The Czech Republic’s track record since then had been… poor, to say the least. Failing to qualify out of the semi final in 2015 and 2017. Qualifying in 2016, but coming 25th out of 26th. But hey. At least they beat Germany. Whilst Mickey wasn’t really into Eurovision, he had been a little smug to point out that Italy always placed better than the Czechs did.

 

Mickey’s songs were mostly man-sings-with-guitar kind of soft pop. Ed Sheeran, The Script, Train. There was some classic dad rock in there too, because that’s what Sara and Mickey listened to growing up with Antonio.

 

Mickey had his head in Emil’s lap. Emil was carding his fingers through Mickey’s hair, tracing them down his face, just enjoying being able to touch his partner. Mickey had his eyes closed. It was rare, quiet moments like this that Emil enjoyed the most. They were content to be in silence together, soaking up their love, marvelling at how precious they were to each other. The laptop on the coffee table ticked over from _Hey Soul Sister_ to the next song.

 

Mickey opened one eye when he realised it was in Italian. Emil listened along too. By the end of the first chorus, Mickey had sat up. He was staring at the laptop as the second verse played. Emil translated in his head. _I gave less space to the heart and more to reason. Always one step behind and with my soul on alert. And I watched the world from a door that was never fully open. And not from close by. And no, there’s no hesitation finally inside me._

 

Mickey grabbed Emil’s hand. The chorus played again, this time in English _. There is no degree of separation. There is no degree of hesitation. There is no degree of space between us. Live in love._ Mickey sighed deeply and put his head on Emil’s shoulder. That was when they both knew they’d found the right song.

 

And now, Mickey was finally performing it at the Grand Prix Final. He had nailed every element, every flick of his wrist, every vulnerable gaze he shot Emil’s way. Emil’s heart constricted. Fuck. He was so in love with this man.

 

_We are stars aligned together_

_Dancing through the sky, we are shining_

 

As the song ended Emil leaned so far over the barrier he almost fell onto the ice. He caught himself before that could happen and leaned back to clap wildly, cheering as loud as he could. Mickey, although he should have been skating over to the gate to head to the kiss-and-cry, skated over to Emil instead. He reached up for Emil’s face and he obliged, leaning over for a desperate kiss. They stayed like that for a few seconds, basking in each other’s light. At a pointed cough from someone behind Emil, Mickey pulled away. He looked into Emil’s eyes, and Emil was stunned by the pride he saw there.

 

“Good luck. I’ll be watching.”

 

And then he was gone, making it to the kiss-and-cry just in time for the score to be read out. It was a personal best, and that made Emil grin widely despite his nerves. Behind him, someone put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but forced himself not to pull away.

 

“Sorry,” his coach, Theo, smiled apologetically. Over the last couple of years Theo had come to be one of the few people Emil would allow physically close, but any touch was startling when he wasn’t expecting it.

 

“I wish I could be over there with him.” Emil said, nodding to the kiss-and-cry where Mickey was celebrating with his coach.

 

“That’s just how it is. You got drawn to skate after him. He’ll be at yours, so don’t worry.” Theo chuckled and ruffled Emil’s hair, which had been gelled and styled at some point but hadn’t stayed that way. Emil’s stylist hated his hair. Emil took several deep breaths.

 

“Just remember, Emil,” Theo held his shoulders. “You’ve done amazingly well just to get this far. Just enjoy it. There’s no pressure. Imagine it’s just you and Mickey.”

 

Emil took several deep breaths. The anxiety slowly ebbed away. Just him and Mickey. He could do that. As he skated out onto the ice, he thought about Theo’s words. It was true. Just qualifying for the Grand Prix Final had been nothing short of a miracle. After several years of not skating at all, too. When he’d woken up in hospital to find his feet slashed and broken he had considered not even bothering to try. He was a shattered, damaged person. He could never stand alongside Mickey on the international stage. But Mickey had persisted. After his feet were as healed as they were going to get, Mickey found Theo. They started from the ground up. He remembered almost everything from his skating days but he wasn’t in shape. He spent the first year training his body, learning the more complicated jumps he hadn’t known in juniors… and most importantly, building confidence. Every time his nightmares came back his resolve would take a hit. He lost count of the number of times he’d ended up crying on Mickey’s shoulder, saying he couldn’t do it, saying he was worthless, saying he’d never get there.

 

This season, Theo had deemed him ready for competitions. At the age of twenty, Emil was finally making his senior debut. The media hadn’t taken long to connect the dots between the Emil Nekola who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and the Emil Nekola who had mysteriously disappeared as a young teen. They were especially interested in the mysterious scars that sometimes showed above his costumes. The cigarette burns on his shoulders, the branded ‘A’ for Alessandro that poked out between his collarbones. The mess of raised scars around his blind eye. They were all over it, constantly trying to interview him at competitions (and sometimes outside of competitions) to find out where he’d been. For the most part he just laughed and offered excuses like _I was having personal issues_ or _I was doing other things_. Even though it had been months, the press had yet to stop asking. Especially after his miracle qualification. A combination of luck, skill (he was a good jumper and he knew it), determination and the misfortune of others came together to help him get here. Several skaters had been injured in training and had to sit out some of the competitions. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

 

Emil couldn’t help feeling a little unworthy. Otabek would be here if not for a sprained ankle. Leo would be here if not for a broken arm. JJ would be here if not for a knee injury. Although, actually, JJ _was_ here, in the crowd. He waved, and Emil offered him a smile. They’d become good friends, ever since Emil’s return to competitive skating.

 

Emil stood in the middle of the ice and took a deep breath. Even if he was only here because someone else wasn’t, he was going to make the most of it. He had put blood, sweat and a _lot_ of tears into his debut. The music began, soft piano notes filling the rink. He moved, raising his arms into the air slowly and bringing them down as Carl Epsen’s haunting voice echoed.

 

_Head to toes/Flesh and bones_

 

He skated across the ice, his heart gripped with the empty feelings the song expressed. Originally he had decided on a happier song – but in the end he and Theo agreed that he couldn’t skate it convincingly enough. He wasn’t happy enough on the inside to pull off _Walking on Sunshine._ And that was okay. He was content.

 

_Should feel whole/But the void/Silent storm_

 

On the key change, he launched into his first element – double lutz, double toe loop. He stumbled on the landing but didn’t fall, and he had enough rotation so he would be awarded. But he wasn’t thinking about that.

 

_I’m here to use my heart and my hands/Somehow the bruises changed my plans_

 

His hands ghosted over his arms, his torso, everywhere someone had ever left a bruise. His movements were fluid, his mind caught between the now and the memories. How his plans and dreams had been so drastically cut short.

 

_And there’s a silent storm inside me/Looking for a home_

 

When Emil had first decided on his song for this skate, nobody else had been sure about it. Mickey had thought it too sad, to depressing, and too triggering. Emil cried without fail whenever he heard it and that didn’t seem appropriate for his debut skate. Theo had thought the same thing until Emil had shown him what happened when he skated to it. The magic, the feelings involved, they were unmistakable. They were winning material.

 

_I hope that someone’s gonna find me/And say that I belong_

 

His therapist on the other hand had been immediately supportive. She thought this was exactly what he needed to sort through all the negative feelings his past brought. Skating these feelings out, in front of everyone he knew, forced him to acknowledge they were there. If he acknowledged it, he could deal with it.

 

_I’ll wait forever and a lifetime/To find I’m not alone_

 

He slid smoothly into his next elements, his eyes on Mickey. Mickey’s gaze never wavered, never left. It was solid and unmoving even when Emil’s eyes blurred with tears.

 

_And there’s a silent storm inside me_

 

He slowed his movements, curling in on himself and spinning.

 

_And some day I’ll be calm/Someday I’ll be calm_

 

“See, here.” His therapist pointed to the lyrics, which she’d printed out onto a page. “ _Ask myself what comes next, will I fly? Will I fall?_ You’re asking yourself the same questions Emil. But your measure of success is skewed. You’re considering every possible outcome as failure because you doubt yourself. But the song’s got hope too. Is that why you picked it?”

 

Emil hadn’t been able to answer her. But she was probably right – the last lines of the chorus stuck with him more than the rest, more than the bruises, more than waiting to find he wasn’t alone.

 

In the last chorus his movements sped back up, became desperate, frantic, pining. He clutched at the hope he could find in the song through the despair, the hope that _someone’s going to find me and say that I belong,_ every muscle begging the heavens for a peace he felt he didn’t deserve. Then the song paused, the singer froze in his desperate distress, and the last lines were sung softly, with reverence, with the peace Emil hoped he’d found.   

 

_And someday I’ll be calm... Someday I’ll be calm_

 

Emil came to a stop, on his knees, on the ice. He stared at his hands as the song ended and the crowd erupted with applause. This shook him out of his trance, and he rubbed the tears away with a smile. He always felt better after getting that out of his system. He’d fallen on a couple of the jumps towards the end but he usually did that, since his stamina wasn’t where it ought to be yet. He hurried over to the kiss-and-cry, where Mickey pulled him in tight for a hug.

 

“I love you, Emil. Fuck, I’m so _proud._ ”

 

He barely paid attention to the score – not a personal best, but close – in favour of peppering Mickey’s face with light, loving kisses. He felt calm. Loved. _Whole._

 

That evening, after a healthy meal and a pep talk, everyone took an early night. But Emil’s mind wouldn’t shut up. He was excited for the next day. His free skate song was much more cheerful – a song in both French and English, a love song, something that reminded him of Mickey – and he already wanted to be out on the ice again.

 

So whilst Mickey slept next to him, Emil took out his book. He’d been reading it on recommendation from his therapist. Not for anything to do with his mental health, just because she liked the book and thought he would too. And he had. One of the main characters reminded him of himself. A throwaway because of her father, sold to someone evil, forced to suffer for years, and then finally finding her peace. Only, her peace was vastly different to Emil's. For her, it wasn’t as much of a happy ending. But her parting thoughts, as he read them, stuck in his mind.

 

_Miriam wished for so much in those final moments. Yet as she closed her eyes, it was not regret any longer but a sensation of abundant peace that washed over her. She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager, an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed. And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back. She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother. A person of consequence at last._

 

Emil looked beside him, at Mickey. A tear fell from the end of his beard and onto the pages as he reached out to trace Mickey’s lips with the feather-light touch of his fingertips. It wasn’t that Emil had been a weed, someone worthless. It was… yes, it was that he’d thought of himself that way. He had never seen in himself the value others saw. But through Mickey’s proud eyes today, after that skate, he’d seen it. If even for a brief moment, he’d believed it. He’d believed he was worthy of that love. Believed he was worthy of his amazing friends, his amazing siblings, the astonishing support he’d found. In the future, he hoped he would believe that more often. No, it wasn’t that he had never _been_ a person of consequence. He just never _believed_ he was.

 

And now he could. His heart swelled. He put the book down and turned off the bedside light. He wrapped an arm around Mickey, felt Mickey’s heartbeat against the palm of his hand, felt his steady breathing – ebbing and flowing like the tides on a moonlit shore.

 

Emil closed his eyes against that perfect sight. He knew he’d see it again the next morning, and the one after, and the one after. The thought made him smile.

 

He thought of the future as he fell asleep, and the future looked bright. Golden.

 

Beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. This is the first multichapter fanfic I've ever finished. This has been a real journey! There are so many points where I was unmotivated and pushed through it because of your wonderful comments. Thank you all so much!
> 
> I struggled writing this. I'm no good with endings, and I'm no good with beginnings. I tried to make it seem like Emil never went back to skating, just so it was more of a surprise when Theo showed up and Emil stepped out onto the ice. The songs are both Eurovision songs, because I'm a massive fucking Eurovision nerd. It's not written in the chapter but the songs I picked for their free skates were Gianluca Bezzina's Tomorrow for Mickey and Amir's J’ai cherché for Emil. I think they both encapsulate how they feel about each other :) 
> 
> And now onwards and upwards! I'm working on my new fanfic (hey if you like ZoSan, go check it out~) but like I promised, I'll do a few oneshots for Mickey and Emil. So now I'm going to list them, and you guys get to vote on which you want to see. Since the fandom is quiet right now I'm not sure I'll get much of a response, but hey... even if it's just one vote, it'll push me to write it!
> 
> Beauty and the Beast AU - probably with Mickey as the beast and Emil as Belle   
> Omegaverse - I had a dream where Emil was an omega but he hid it because omegas are supposed to be 'short' and 'cute'. I'm not sure exactly where I'd go with it, but possibly either an abusive coach or a scenario where Mickey and Emil sleep together and then Emil disappears for a year and comes back with a baby who looks surprisingly familiar -coughlikeMickeycough- ;)  
> Romeo and Juliet - Using my headcanons from this fanfic, where Emil's family is mafia and Mickey's is police, except they go up against each other.   
> Hospital AU - Sara is sick, and Mickey visits every day. But the annoying patient in the ward next to Sara's won't stop bugging him...  
> Medieval Soulmate AU - Based on an AU RP I did with some friends that never went anywhere. Emil's family are pirates, but he doesn't know it, and he's been roped into illegal stuff without realising. He shares a soulmark with his best friend Mickey but Mickey is a noble, so they both know they can't be together. But then Emil's family gets caught, he gets thrown in prison, and he's sentenced to hang in the morning...  
> Emil Enchanted - Like Ella Enchanted. I started writing this but then I didn't like what I wrote. Basically Emil gets cursed to do whatever people say. People start to abuse this power once they know. Idk where I would even go with it though.   
> Turned into children - one of them, or both of them, gets magically turned into a kid for a week. Cute, but I'd put angst in there anyway, cause I'm a little shit ;)  
> Groundhog Day - Emil gets stuck in a time loop on the day Mickey dies in a tragic accident. Emil then has a certain number of days to try to find a way to save Mickey, or time will resume with Mickey staying dead.   
> Daemon AU - His Dark Materials kind of daemon, where people have an animal representation of their souls which follows them. Probably just a cute love story but I'mma put angst in everything jsyk  
> Foster Family AU - Emil's the new kid at a group home who has to find his place among a multicultural and damaged group of children.  
> Obligatory Hogwarts AU - because you gotta have a Hogwarts AU in there somewhere amiright   
> Emil is an alien - Idk I just think that would be a cute (and potentially angsty) interpretation of 'no longer human'? There's lots of places I could go with it. 
> 
> So there you have it! Sorry there's so many omg-  
> But once again, thank you to all my amazing comment-leavers and kudos-givers. I wouldn't have finished this without you. I love you all.


End file.
